Missing in Action
by K'Arthur
Summary: Suikoden III The TintoZexen border clashes have raged on for more than a decade. In this time many things have changed except the camraderie between the Six Mighty Knights. Chapter Ten: Rough Waters
1. Prologue

**Missing in Action**

**Prologue**

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The man shuffled down the quaint street, his boots kicking dirt up from the ground. Wind-licked leaves spun around in front of him as if trying to offer some sort of comfort, but that comfort didn't come. His fingers closed around the large object he carried in his hand. Wrapped in an old piece of burlap, it reeked of blood, death, and battle, but traditions were traditions, and he would deliver it as he was supposed to.

A glance to the clear evening sky and a silent prayer were all he offered when he found the house he was looking for. He didn't much feel like being in this place, and normally he wouldn't be subjected to the unpleasantness of the mission. A simple note sent by messenger would usually suffice, but in this case he had a personal interest. It wasn't just responsibility and duty--it was friendship.

He wrinkled his nose as the smell of animals from the nearby barn filled his senses. The odor was so strong he could taste it, but he would not let it bother him. There were other matters to worry about, much more important than the stench of manure. With a drawn breath, he raised his gloved hand to the door, silently cursing the fate that had dragged him to this place.

* * *

The news was bad. 

The thudding sound of the knock was made by a gauntlet—a leather one—and its rhythm still sounded like a dirge. She knew the sound well, but that didn't make it at all palatable. She didn't want to open the door, but she knew this would happen one day. She knew this was inevitable.

Years ago, when they had just married and decided to start a family, they had talked about it. They both knew the risks, and neither could explain away the duty when the war started. Eleven years it had raged on, eleven years longer than it needed to last. She fought the knot forming in her throat as she chased their two small sons upstairs to their bedrooms, and then steeled herself as she approached the door.

The knock came again, as if reaffirming itself in the realm of reality. She reached towards the crude lock and unfastened it, her fingers fumbling at the latch. A moment later she won the small battle and then gently pulled the door open.

She knew the man standing there, and she knew how he felt. He still might have been on the right side of fifty, but at that moment, he seemed to age another thirty years. Touches of silver in his dirty blond hair were pulled by the wind, and through the new wrinkles on his face she could read his message.

Nonetheless, he met her eyes as he said quietly, "I'm sorry, milady."

She'd known it was coming, but his words were still paralyzing. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes welled with tears.

The man reached for her hand with his free one and gripped it tightly. "Allow me to come in and stay with you, milady. It is the least I can do."

She nodded ever so slightly at his request and felt his arm drape over her shoulders as he guided her to the lounging bench in front of the fireplace. The bench was rather ornate, something not seen often in this town, and on most days, quite comfortable. She sat there, letting the delicate blue velvet cushions hold her and the oak frame support her. Although still very much in shock, she could hear the children shuffling around in their bedrooms upstairs, but knew they didn't dare to come out. They were well aware of what their father did for living and the consequences of such a life.

Her friend set his burlap bundle down on the low table before her and started to unwrap it.

"Let me do that," she said, interrupting his slow, reverent movements.

He nodded and stepped back. Pulling off his gloves and tucking them into his belt, he bowed his head solemnly as she removed the shroud of the unwanted gift.

She peeled the cloth back gently, being careful not to disturb its contents. Inside was what she knew would be there—a long, hastily cleaned, but well-oiled broadsword. Her hands went to touch the silver hilt, but something wasn't right. She looked back at the man in a mix of surprise and anger. "Salome, where is the sheath?"

"We couldn't find it, milady," he said as he glanced away. "We didn't find anything else. But you know how the enemy will take things."

She felt her teeth grit. She knew this, but didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to accept death as the answer here, and so she found a bit of hope lying within her own denial. Embracing this, she pushed herself away from the sword and announced, "He's not dead."

Salome didn't answer her, but after a moment he bowed his head respectfully. "Allow me to make us some tea, milady. There is much we need to talk about." He didn't even bother to wait for her answer before disappearing into the kitchen.

Her eyes fixed themselves on the sword as though waiting for it to come to life so that she could demand the truth. With a sigh, she realized this course of action was futile and reached to touch the adorned silver hilt. Her fingers traced the tiny carvings of good fortune on the crossguard and the green stone set into the pommel, which proclaimed the owner to be a proud member of the elite ranking officers. She glared at the sword again, wanting to hear its tale but then leaned back, and impatiently waited for Salome to return and explain it all.

* * *

Salome poured the hot water into the worn teacups and waited for the tea to steep. He brushed the forming tears from his eyes and shook his head at her stubbornness. She wouldn't accept it and he hadn't expected her to—she always could see through his lies, even when it was for her own good. Sighing, he knew that he'd just have to give her all the information he had and pray she wouldn't do anything stupid. 

Footsteps slowly descended the stairs to leave their owner, the elder son, standing proudly in the kitchen. He bowed his head to the man and offered a somber greeting. "Hello, Lord Salome."

Salome forced himself to smile at the dark-haired boy of eight years. "Hello, Ryan."

"I put Geoffrey to bed," Ryan said. "He's too little to be up this late."

"Good. You're a good help to your mother," was all the man could come up with as he looked at the piteous child.

"I have to be. I promised Father I'd take care of her. So don't worry. It will be all right," Ryan said as he turned towards the staircase.

Salome smiled at the young boy, admiring his courage and innocent selflessness. _Just as stubborn as his parents, too, _he thought With the first light of happiness he had experienced that day still in his mind, the knight took the mugs and walked back to the keeping room.

He handed her the tea, knowing its warmth was welcome in her frigid hands. She took a sip and then turned her gaze on him, her eyes commanding him to tell her what had happened. He sighed as he stared into the fire for a moment, and then he found his voice.

"As you know, milady, this border clash--"

"It isn't a 'border clash.' It's a war. It may have started as a border clash, but eleven years later we're still fighting."

"I agree, milady," he said as he put his cup down far too carefully on the table and then took a seat next to her.

"Then don't sugarcoat things for me, Salome," she said as she glared over the top of her mug.

Dropping his gaze to floor, he spoke with guarded anger in his voice. "The Council would like it to be called a border clash."

Her eyes narrowed at him, their bright violet color nearly cutting through his skin and expecting the story to continue.

He gingerly took his tea off the table. Cradling it in his hands, he spoke again. "Regardless, milady, we were assigned to attack the port city of Dubios. It's close to the border, and if we had taken it, we would have had the upper hand and might have been able to negotiate a treaty."

"You were not successful," she said flatly, putting her cup back down.

"No, we were not. We didn't anticipate their numbers, nor did we anticipate the denseness of the woods surrounding the city." He lifted his chin and looked her in the eye. "That is my fault."

She shook her head at him as if the small motion would slay this nightmare of a war that plagued him. Still desperate to hear the rest of the tale, she prodded him in a most tender way—a soft, plaintive whisper of his name.

Salome nodded to her and continued the story with trepidation in his voice. "Many were lost, but as I said, all that we found of your husband was his sword. I had the men scour the woods in the hopes that he and his battalion had escaped, but--"

"They found nothing."

"Yes, milady," he said, replacing his tea on the table and gazing into the fire.

"I'm sure they took prisoners. Are you doing anything to retrieve or even identify them?"

"The Council has not yet approved action on that. Although I have heard rumors of a peace negotiation in the works."

She snorted and raised a brow at him. "The Council will take weeks to decide either. Perhaps if you sent word to Tinto's capital and asked for a treaty, and then waited on the Council? You could have the entire thing wrapped up before the wax dried on their seals." She glowered at him. "Unless you want to keep fighting this idiotic war."

"Of course not, milady. I myself have questioned the need for it to the Council, but all I have been given are stalling tactics and rhetoric."

"Of course you did. That's all those old fools speak in—riddles and politics. Unfortunately, it is the way of the world: war means good commerce, and good commerce means re-election." There was a strain of hatred and reminiscence in her voice as she added: "Remember, I dealt with them at one point, too."

A half-hearted smile crossed his lips. "Yes, milady. I remember."

There was a long moment of silence between the two as they reached for their cups and then sipped their tea. Then she started the questions he was truly dreading. "Tell me, did any of his squad return?"

He never could lie to her. "No, milady."

"And did you find any of their weapons, armor, or…" Her voice trailed off.

He touched her shoulder. "No, milady. As I said before, I only recovered your husband's sword. All that was left of the group were their weapons. No sheathes, no shields, no horses."

Another few moments passed as they looked at each other from over their cups, and he could see the workings of her mind through her eyes.

She replaced her teacup on the table and turned to face him. "When I first saw you, Salome, I thought that Percival was dead. But now I know that he is alive. He and his men were captured! An entire battalion just doesn't float off into the distance. Besides, Tinto is a respectable nation. They would return the dead to their families."

He closed his eyes. "We're not quite sure that we were fighting the Tinto army, milady."

"What do you mean?"

He pinched his nose in thought as he explained it. "The enemies we've encountered over the past year or two have been fighting less like soldiers and more like bandits. This time, they met us in the woods, and we didn't even have a chance to get to the city gates. Men just popped out of trees and overtook us. It was a very strange, yet effective strategy."

Salome watched with guarded emotions as the inevitable outcome of his visit finally manifested. Her eyes closed and then reopened with a new resolve. Getting to her feet, she moved to look out the small window to the dark street with grim determination. "Something must be done here, and if I must be the one to do it, then so be it."

"Milady, you do not need to show your strength to me—I know what you are capable of—but I don't think you are making the right decision by getting involved in this. I will swear to you that I will do everything to find out exactly what happened, but you have a family to think about now, Lady Chris."

Her reply was harsh and full of the spirit she'd had her entire life. "I already am involved in this, Salome. I will do whatever it takes to bring my husband back to me, so don't try and talk me out of it."


	2. Chapter One

**Missing in Action**

**Chapter One**

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* * *

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Louis Keeferson stared at the handwritten list the courier had placed into his grasp. His finger slowly traced down the page, touching each name; some he knew, many he didn't. It was a ritual he was used to performing, one he had learned early in his career to despise. But it was his job, and more importantly it was his duty, so there was no true choice for him. There were more than usual this time, but one name in particular stood out.

He glanced up at the knight who had delivered the dreaded information. "Are you sure about this? Are you sure that Percival Fraulein is missing?"

"Yes, milord. The Lieutenant and his men were among those we could not account for."

The chestnut-haired councilman sat back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, but the knight remained at attention. "Has anyone told Lady Chris yet?"

"The Captain went himself, milord. He left this morning. He should be there by now."

"Goddess…" the young man said as he ran his hand over his face.

The soldier spoke in a clipped voice that Louis had quickly grown to hate in the few minutes he had spent with the man. "Milord, I need your seal. Then I will be on my way."

The councilman was only too willing to speed this supercilious knight from his office. He took a stick of wax out of the desk drawer and heated it over a candle. A moment later it was pooled on the parchment and his seal stamped into it. "Done," he said as he placed it into the other's hand. "You are dismissed."

The knight placed his free hand over his heart in a salute and left the room, leaving Louis to stare at the four walls that had become his life. There was a time when he had held a position envied by all young boys—he was the attendant and squire to Lady Chris, the Silver Maiden, the White Hero, the most beautiful and deadly woman to ever live. He would travel with her to strange places, embark on exciting adventures, and learn the skills of a knight from her and the other revered members of The Mighty Six. He couldn't have asked for a better life. It was interesting, exhilarating, and dare he say…fun?

But that was then, and this was now. Time passes, things change, and even if one didn't want to grow up, life forced him to do just that. It's a simple fact, a simple sequence, a nicely predetermined ideal. Squires become knights. Knights go into battle. Sometimes they win, sometimes they lose, and sometimes they get wounded. Some wounds heal, others don't. Some leave permanent problems—like the one that took most of his left leg. He frowned as he looked down at the wooden replacement and his crutches that were leaning against his desk. They would help him stand and walk for short periods of time, but served as a constant and unpleasant reminder of what he used to be.

Five years ago he had been reckless in a particularly chaotic battle. After watching too many of his men meet their ends, he charged forward on his horse, determined to kill the leader of the battalion they were fighting. He didn't see a Tinto soldier ride up alongside him. Before he knew it, the enemy had knocked him from his horse, and while he was still dazed, an axe sliced right through his thigh, severing the flesh and shattering the bone just above his knee. He remembered the pain, the excruciating pain that had him screaming in agony and hoping for a higher power to put him out of his misery. He didn't remember much of what he was saying, or even if he was forming words at all, but he knew one thing at that moment—he wanted to die.

He was lucky, although his prayers were not answered in the manner he had expected. Lord Leo had been only a few horse-lengths behind him, and by some miracle was able to come to his rescue. The huge knight pulled Louis onto his horse and took him to a field medic. Still in shock, he was thankfully unaware of the medic's cauterization of his wound. But that was just the beginning…an infection ravaged him for a week, and once he survived that, old things--such as walking--became new challenges.

While confined to a bed in the infirmary of Brass Castle and awaiting his expected discharge, Louis found himself in a terrible depression. Everything he had trained for, everything he had dreamed of being was ripped from him with the loss of his leg. Goddess, he was but twenty-one years old! He didn't know what to do or how to feel now that he was confined to the life of a cripple. And while anger was an easy emotion, it just didn't suit him. He wanted to be thankful to be alive, but the doubt of his purpose kept bothering him.

His friends would try to cheer him up, making a concerted effort to stop by every morning before breakfast to see how he was doing. Nothing was really said; it was just a small formality and he knew it, although it did make him feel a bit better. Normally it started with a greeting, then an empty "how are you?" and then they would stand about looking awkward prior to muttering an apology before they departed to fulfill their daily duties. In those moments he felt the most lost, the most useless to himself and his nation. He would sit on the bed, trying to find some justification for his life to continue and praying to either find it or to look up and be face to face with an angel--one that would take him from this horrible, crippled existence.

But one morning, about three weeks after his injury, everything seemed different. It was too quiet. While the infirmary was far inside the depths of the massive structure that neither natural light nor news permeated it at all, he could tell something was definitely amiss. The usual hustling clank of armor couldn't be heard in the hallway outside, nor was the scent of breakfast in the air. He called out, hoping the medics were still around, but they were not. Not a soul lurked down in this dungeon except some of the other patients, and they were all sedated or asleep. He held his breath, praying that the castle had not been attacked in the middle of the night while he had slept.

Determined to discover what had happened, he pulled himself up to the edge of the bed and reached for the crutches that leaned near the wall. Laboriously, he dragged his body upright, standing as best he could on his one leg. He still wasn't used to walking with the aid of the uncomfortable props, but right now there seemed no better time to practice and adjust.

He hadn't gone more than a few, halting steps when he heard a commotion from the hallway. It sounded like a mob, and it was moving towards him--fast! Panic consumed his heart and he dropped back down onto the bed, the crutches slipping from his hands and crashing onto the hard stone floor. He cursed himself, knowing that the noise would attract their attention, attention he didn't want, especially at this moment. He held his breath as the door swung open. At that moment, he saw that his prayers had been answered, in a most unexpected way. An angel had indeed come for him—in the form of Lady Chris.

She stood in the door, framed by the dark timbers, flanked by Percival and followed by a curious crowd. Louis could see that her husband was holding back some sort of well meaning anger as he fixed a stern glare on her. Whether she noticed this or not, he didn't know, but she passed the child she held in her arms to him and then turned to the people who were trailing. "Please, stop treating me like a celebrity. I am here to see a friend. Please respect that."

Reluctantly the group dispersed, save the medics who were pitifully sneaking around her to resume their duties. As she stepped into the room, Louis quickly pulled the sheets over his bandaged stump. He didn't want her to see him like this; it was beyond humiliating. He was no longer a knight and he knew it, and perhaps he was no longer even a man.

She smiled as she sat down next to him, and then she took his hands. He couldn't help but stare at her; she was radiant even dressed in traveling clothes. The loose braid that secured her hair was draped over one of her shoulders, its striking silver color a vibrant contrast to her red shirt. Her exotic appearance had always captivated him, but now it made her seem purely ethereal. He had to force himself to stop gawking when she offered a sympathetic greeting.

"Hello, Louis. I heard that you had a nasty fall."

"I was careless, milady. But—why have you come?"

"Am I not allowed to be concerned for a friend?" she asked with a wink.

He felt his cheeks begin to burn. "Of course, milady, but—never mind. It is good to see you."

"The same, Louis, although I wish it had been under better circumstances. I came as soon as I heard about what happened. I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner, but sometimes word doesn't reach me as fast as it should," she said, directing a nasty glare over her shoulder to Percival.

"I should have delayed it longer," was the tired and rather frustrated reply from the knight. "Or just told you on my next leave."

Louis glanced nervously between the two of them, hoping for something to crush the tension. At a loss for anything else to say, he offered a quick regret. "I'm sorry if this has caused you any inconvenience--"

"No," Percival said as he shifted Ryan in his arms. "It's not your fault. Some people just need to think twice before deciding to travel alone at night with a three-year-old on their lap."

Louis looked at Chris. She wasn't happy, and he could tell that she was feeling a tinge of guilt for worrying everyone, but she stubbornly defended her position. "The messenger said it was dire. I thought he was on his deathbed. If I had waited until dawn for an escort, or for you to come home--"

"Never mind," Percival said resignedly. "It's done now. But I pray you'll be more careful in the future."

"Indeed," she replied, a bit of contempt still in her voice.

Louis watched as the two of them shook their heads, probably cursing the other's stubbornness. He grinned nervously, hoping that they would make this more pleasant for him, but the stagnant silence held until Ryan let out a yawn.

"Chris," Percival said gently. "He needs to rest, and you probably should as well."

She nodded and then touched Louis's shoulder. "I am tired, but I'll be back. I have a feeling there are things we need to talk about."

"Yes, milady," Louis said with a growing smile. "But beware of the gossip that is no doubt already spreading. I'm sure by the time you get back upstairs they'll have your reenlistment papers ready."

She gave a tiny, almost pained laugh at his attempt at a joke and then rose to her feet. He felt he had said something wrong but wasn't sure what it was. Everyone always hoped Lady Chris would return. And even if she didn't, what was so bad about playfully asking about it? He was starting to think of an appropriate apology when he glanced up to see her watching her family with delicate, maternal eyes. The scene she was regarding was something very ordinary, but it was clearly filling her heart with warmth. Ryan was trying to sleep amidst all of the noise and unfriendly walls of the fortress. As Percival held him and brushed his hair soothingly, the little boy nestled himself tighter against his father's chest, a peaceful smile resting on his tiny lips.

In that second Louis knew, or rather, he finally accepted the simple truth. Lady Chris didn't want to ever live the life of a knight again. She had told him that once, but he didn't believe her. Now he did, but most importantly, he understood why she had made such a decision--and he couldn't say that he blamed her.

She remained at Brass Castle for a week, most of the time spent at his bedside, trying to convince him that all was not lost. She told him that he could be quite valuable to the knights as a councilman. It would be a fresh change from the usual idiots who ran the Federation. Too many times their actions made little sense and put too many lives in danger. She held his hands and implored him to make them understand that their Army was not an entity to be used and abused, but soldiers to be respected. She all but begged him to run for office in the upcoming election and convey that message to the rest of the Council. He never could refuse her, and so now, for the fourth year straight, he prayed every night that he had not failed the indestructible Lady Chris.

Lady Chris…every time her name passed through his thoughts, a smile would cross his lips. He had been one of her many admirers, and although he was seven years her junior, he had been infatuated with her. It had been a common feeling among the people back then--everyone loved her. She was the woman that men would go into battle prepared to give their lives for and the hero that children would idolize. In the days that she had led the Army, it was strong, morale was high, and her soldiers were unfailingly loyal.

She had been the first and only woman to command (or serve in) the Zexen Army, although her success had since inspired many young girls to skip their classical lessons and begin military training. This did not surprise him. She had motivated an entire army, captured the hearts of the country, but most importantly, she had believed in him.

To call his feelings for her anything but love would be an insult. Yes, everyone loved her, and she'd had many suitors, but she never forgot Louis. The kind words or small bits of advice she'd offer, along with his standard training were all fond memories. He laughed as he thought of the men who'd tried to court her. They'd all offer her pathetic tokens of flowers, jewels, or some other meaningless object. To this day he still found it humorous that some men were stupid enough to try to give such trivial gifts to a woman who could kill them with one slash of her sword.

"Louis!" a voice called, breaking into his thoughts.

He looked up to see one of the elder Council members, a white-haired and lifetime functionary named Stephan Zelowik who, as usual, hadn't bothered to even knock before entering his office. "Yes?"

The man scowled at him from behind his glasses. "I assume you have nothing to add to tomorrow's agenda?"

"Actually, I do," Louis said sternly. "Your presumption that I don't is more than a bit irritating."

Stephan coughed, clearly annoyed that the younger man had put him in his place. It was with an obvious and theatrical sigh that he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling before continuing; they'd played this game many times. "And what great words of wisdom, pray tell, do you have to bestow upon us this time?"

"Put me on the agenda for Military Affairs."

"Military Affairs such as?" Zelowick asked, taking a seat on the sofa in front of Louis' desk.

Louis glared at him. "What does it matter to you? Unless you intend to defeat my motion before it even gets to the table."

"It matters plenty since I just saw your seal on the Allotment Declaration," Stephan said, as he casually leaned back into the cushions of the sofa. "We can't keep paying five thousand potch to the families of lost soldiers. We're going to defeat our treasury before we defeat our enemy."

Searching through the papers on his desk, Louis replied in an annoyed tone. "As I recall, you voted for that resolution when it passed four years ago. Regardless, if we had been able to agree to negotiate a treaty, we wouldn't have to be paying the widows and orphans of our soldiers."

"So you are moving to end the war?" the bespectacled man asked with a laugh. "That's a bold move even for you, Louis."

"I didn't say that, but if I could do it with a simple vote, I would," the younger man said, firmly meeting the eyes of his adversary.

"You'd do what?" a grating voice interjected, as its owner appeared in the room.

Both Louis and Stephan bowed their heads towards Chairman Sohort. The Chairman gave a small nod in acknowledgment of their sign of respect before he began chastising the former knight. "Are you still babbling about ending the border skirmish? Are you still deluded by the dream that we will all unite under a common hero and live in peace?"

Louis raised his head to look directly back at Sohort. Respect of station was one thing, groveling subservience quite another. "Yes sir, I am. I learned my lessons on the battlefield from nothing short of a hero, and I intend to teach those lessons to the Council," Louis replied with thinning patience and then reached for his wooden leg to strap it on. "It would be much easier if more of them were apt and willing pupils."

The Chairman snorted at him in abhorrence and disdain and then ran a hand through his dark hair before smirking at the former knight. "Ah yes, Young Keeferson. The visionary. The man who trained under the Mighty Six. The man who still believes in heroes and the greater good! Let me tell you something about heroes, boy, since your romantic notions are almost as unbearable as your incessantly whining voice. Heroes defend their cause to the end. They die a glorious death on a battlefield while fighting their enemies and rallying their troops. They certainly don't throw away their career to marry one of their skirt-chasing subordinates!"

Louis' green eyes flared with rage as he held back the words he truly wished to say. In a brusque and acidic tone he spoke, his glower fixed upon Sohort. "It would do you well to show some respect for those who have given life and limb to allow you the freedoms you take for granted." His voice paused for a moment before adding the required, and sarcastic, "Sir."

The Chairman leaned over the desk, nearly pressing his nose to Louis' as he delivered his next dose of poison, "And it will do you well to let go of things past—especially adolescent first loves. Such emotions aren't becoming for a man in your position."

"I beg your pardon, sir, but with all due respect that is none of your business. I expect to be on the agenda tomorrow, gentlemen. And now, if you'll excuse me, it's been a long tiring day and I'd like to go home." Reaching for his crutches he pulled himself up. A moment later, he stepped out from behind his desk, his wooden leg forcing him to an odd and noisy gait.

The two men scoffed at him, but finally left. It was something that he could almost consider a daily ritual—older, more corrupt members of the Council harassing him about his ideals. He was used to it, even amused by it, but between Sohort's venture into unfair territory and the news of the day, he couldn't even find the strength to break a smile. A single thought hung in his mind. _Lady Chris…I hope you find comfort in thoughts of your husband…I will be praying for you, milady._

_

* * *

_

Chris was still looking out the window in frustrated anguish. "I was involved eleven years ago, and despite my resignation, I am still involved."

Salome spoke in his usual soft, even voice."I never said I was going to try to stop you, milady. However, I believe that you should probably sleep on this before you make your decision."

"How could you expect me to sleep when you deliver such news to me?" She spun around to face him as half-formed tears smoldered in the corners of her eyes.

He didn't answer the obviously rhetorical question. She made a point there, and a rather good one. A moment of silence danced between them before he forced a crow-footed grin at her. "Then perhaps you should retire and consider your next actions carefully. I know I always taught you to prepare thoroughly for battle."

Chris lowered herself back onto the small bench next to him, and stared into the fire. Salome was right. He was always right, damn him. She took a breath, and then replied, doing her best to keep her voice gentle. "Yes, you did. I'm sorry for my misguided rage. I'm afraid I've been needlessly nasty to you, my friend."

Salome placed his hand on her shoulder. "No apology necessary, milady. This is not easy news to receive."

She nodded solemnly and then stated, rather than questioned, "Many men have been lost in this war, haven't they."

"Yes. And our Army is dwindling in size. It's not glamorous to be a knight anymore."

"It never was," she said flatly.

"I suppose not, although we never had trouble recruiting when you were with us."

"I doubt I had anything to do with it," Chris said with a slight shake of her head. "We were winning then. The war against the Grasslanders meant something—we had spoils and land to show for our efforts. What have we from this so-called border clash? A failed treaty, tens of thousands dead, and maps that have been redrawn a dozen times in a decade. No, Salome, I had nothing to do with it—it's just human nature that people don't want to jump onto a sinking ship."

Drawing away from her, he sighed. "I know I have failed."

"No, you haven't!" She snapped back at him before regaining her composure. "I didn't mean that you had. It isn't the leadership that's in question here; it's the decision to continue an insane war without clear goals or purpose." Reaching for his hands, she said gently, "Besides, you should have been Captain a long time ago."

"Unfortunately a captain needs the charisma that I so desperately lack. I might be able to hold my own on the battlefield, or design a defense with the best of them. But when it comes to inspiring men to fight, to lay down their lives for a cause they only half understand? No, that's not in me and I know it."

"Don't say that, my friend," she sighed, tightening the grip on his calloused hands. "It isn't true."

He gave a slight shake of his head and then sighed with a bit of relief. "It's kind of you to say, milady. But it is I who should be comforting you at this moment."

A tiny smile touched her lips as she glanced down at the sword that still rested on the table. "Percival is too obstinate to be dead. He's probably charming his captors with one of his witty tales while picking their pockets for the keys to his cell."

"I pray that is so, Chris," he said, putting an arm around her. "For both your sakes."

For the next hour or so, the two of them sat in front of the keeping room fire, holding back words. What was there really to say? Her decision had been made, and he would accept it. Many times before the knights had tried to convince her to return, to lead them into battle as she once had, and to bring them the luck they attributed to her presence. Every time the subject came up, she had refused. Her life was simple, and that was what she wanted. She wanted to live in the country with her children. She wanted to watch them grow and enjoy them while she could.

But now things were different. Something had to be done. Something had to stop this war. Someone had to take charge. And if that meant she would have to do something she swore she'd never do again, then so be it.

Finally, she stood up and walked out of the room towards the stairs. Salome asked where she was going, and the simple response of "to bed" was enough to appease him. He said something she couldn't quite hear, but she knew he would stay downstairs, should she need anything.

She pushed open the door to her bedchamber, its weight seeming heavier than usual. Inside the room, the drapes hung perfectly still on the large ornate bed in the center, a stark contrast to the rough, rustic walls. His house, her furniture…it was a bizarre combination of simplicity and luxury, but it worked.

Chris closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Alone at last, she could finally drop the façade of strength she had put on for Salome. She had held the tears back down there, but now she let them come. What if Percival was really dead? She didn't want to think about that possibility, but still it flickered in her mind. She knew she should have been prepared for this, but how does one really get ready for such terrible news about someone he or she cares so greatly about?

She muffled her sobs with her hand as she slid down to the floor. The children didn't need to hear her crying. They didn't need to know that while she wanted to hope for the best, she really feared the worst. And so, a good bit of time passed as she wept, the grief finally devouring her.

At the sound of small footsteps in the hallway, she snapped her head up and wiped away the tears. There would be a time for mourning, but it was not now. Now was the time to plan. Getting to her feet, she brushed off her slacks and then sat on the draped bed, a new resolve burning within her to think things through, to plan her strategy, and to devise what exactly she was going to say to the children. She wouldn't tell them that their father was dead, nor would she say that he might not be dead. False hopes were horrible things to give to children, or to anyone for that matter. She had learned that herself all those years ago when her own father disappeared. Just as she came to accept him as having been killed in battle, a rumor spread of his whereabouts, and she had to endure the pain all over again.

No. Not until something was definite would the children be told. Lying to her sons would kill her, as would leaving them in the care of someone else, but it was for the best. It had to be done—there was no other choice.

She shook her head, a list of needed goods and supplies forming in her mind. Just as she was about to open a closet long forgotten, she heard her elder son at the door. "Mother? Mother, are you all right?"

Chris smiled to herself; he was incredibly compassionate for a child his age. She pulled the door open and let him in. He stood at her feet looking up at her. It was amazing how tall he was getting—he was nearly past her waist. The uncanny resemblance he had to his father made her heart grow heavy again. It wasn't just his dark hair or his charismatic brown eyes; it was his smile, his voice, and even the way he carried himself. It was everything.

With damp cheeks, she kneeled down and took him into her arms. The boy returned the embrace and rested his head on her shoulder as she heard him choke back a sob. Despite her own sorrow, she found some words to comfort him with. "We don't know what happened, Ryan. But I'm going to find out."

He whispered, "So, you're going then? I knew you would." He looked up at her. "Can I come, too?"

"No," she said, holding him closer to her. "You'll have to go stay with Torrie for a while."

If he was disappointed, he didn't let it show. "Its fine. You have to go. You have to go get him, Mother."

_So much for not saying anything... _She should have known that Ryan would listen to the conversation downstairs. He had a nasty habit of eavesdropping, something he picked up from his father, no doubt.

"Yes, I do," she said as she wiped the freckling tears from his cheeks.

"Don't worry about Geoffrey. I won't tell him. I'll just tell him that you had to go see a friend." His small face contorted before he asked, "That's not a lie, is it?"

"No, not really," she said, giving him a nod of reassurance. Her younger child wouldn't understand this situation. It would be best to fib a little.

Ryan slipped out of her embrace and looked her sternly in the eyes. "You should sleep, Mother, since we're leaving early tomorrow morning."

Again his selflessness impressed her, and she nodded to him. "So should you."

"Yeah, I'm going to bed as soon as you do."

Had she been in better spirits, his ultimatum would have caused her to chuckle, but tonight, she simply obliged him. She walked over to her bed and lay down, still in her day clothes. She looked up at the ceiling, but saw that he was still watching her, so she closed her eyes. She heard him back towards the door, pull it behind him, and then go to keep his end of the bargain.

The large, creaky timbers that made up the roof sang a gentle lullaby as she worked out the rest of the plan in her mind. She knew where she had to go, whom she had to see, and that they would be leaving in the morning. They would go to Brass Castle first and then to see a relative in Vinay del Zexay. That would all take a couple of days. Then…then…she wasn't sure. As she examined each aspect of the journey she had planned, each one opened new questions, new options, and new doors.

She closed her eyes and held her breath at the sudden memory of something Percival had once told her. She could hear his voice as if he was sitting right there, giving her a mischievous grin and imparting this bit of wisdom she'd always remember: "Answers are the easy part, my dear. It's questions that raise the doubts."

She almost gave a response to his sentiment out loud but forced it back down her throat. _How right you are, my love…_


	3. Chapter Two

**Missing in Action**

**Chapter Two**

**

* * *

**

Despite the sleepless night she had endured, Chris made fast work of closing up the house. The fires were put out, the food that would spoil was given away, the house and animals were placed under the care of a neighbor, and finally, the shutters were latched. Packing was the next chore, and one that she tried to hurry through. The children's clothes were carefully rolled into one bundle and hers into another. Choosing what to take for clothing was easy, but when the time came to deal with her equipment, she was more discriminating.

The heavy armor she had locked in a closet when she retired was left behind even though she had spent her entire military career wearing it. In the years that followed her resignation, she learned to favor lighter, more flexible defensive gear such as chain mail or leather. It served her better, she thought, and she wasn't even sure the armor would fit, given the inevitable changes that came with bearing children. From under her bed she took the light, brass hilted sword she was famous for wielding and slit her finger on the blade to prove it was still sharp. Satisfied that it was, she fastened it to her side, hoping her skills would be somewhere near as polished. Although her life had changed quite a bit since her marriage, she had continued to practice whenever she could. Despite these intermittent workouts and the changes the years brought, she still felt confident that she could give an opponent a fair degree of trouble.

After finally completing the mundane chores, she gave the house one last inspection. Percival's sword still sat on the table in the keeping room cradled in its burlap shroud. Chris felt a sudden warmth on her back, and turned. A small beam of sunlight peeked in from between the closed shutters reflected onto her from the blade. The tiny bit of hope that suddenly waltzed upon the hardened steel reaffirmed that her faith in him being alive was not misguided. Heartened by this small sign, she went to join her traveling party, leaving the sword where it was.

Chris walked out into the dirt street to find Salome, the two knights that made up his escort, and the children waiting amidst a group of curious neighbors. Nothing was really private in this village, so she had to endure their well-meaning inquiries and words of sympathy. They were all good people. They all had known Percival since his childhood, and while their concern was genuine, it still just seemed trite. Again something her husband had told her pierced her mind; "Words alone cannot comfort a person, no matter how kind or well crafted they are."

She wasn't even listening to the townspeople anymore. She just kept hearing that sentence spoken in Percival's playful, yet wise, tenor. Her eyes started to burn, even as they turned toward her children. Geoffrey had sought refuge from the crowd behind his older brother, who was hiding his own nervousness as he patted his pony's neck. She wondered if she was making the right decision by deserting them and embarking on this adventure or if she should just take them into her arms and protect them forever. She felt her heart begin to tear apart again as the emotions fought within her.

Chris didn't notice the crowd leaving, nor did she feel Salome's hand on her shoulder. She was lost in her thoughts, fighting her conscience about her decision. Was it right? What if she didn't come back? What then? The previous night, she had been too absorbed in thoughts of Percival to even consider the consequences of leaving the children.

She glanced over again at her sons. Ryan was looking at her with impatience. He wanted this to begin. He had told her that the night before. She needed to do this, but not just for her own benefit. She needed to do this for all of them.

"Are you ready, milady?" Salome's tired voice asked as he looked over at his knights and the children.

She looked up at him. His eyes were weary and the lines on his face were chiseled into exhaustion, telling her that he hadn't slept at all the night before. While his escorts had most likely stayed comfortably at the inn, he had remained in her house, sitting on the couch and probably cursing himself until dawn. He never was one to take mistakes lightly—especially when those mistakes cost him the lives of friends.

"I am," she whispered to him.

"Your voice tells me you're having second thoughts, milady."

"Yes, but I know this is what I must do." She sighed, "Besides, I want to be the one to tell Torrie. She doesn't need to get one of those awful impersonal messages."

He took her hand and gripped it tightly. "Then let us get you to Vinay del Zexay. Should you change your mind after that, I won't fault you, milady."

"Thank you, Salome, but I won't," she said with a slight shake of her head. "I'm sorry that it had to be you to share this burden."

"It's no trouble at all, milady. But we should get going. You know it's a day's ride to Brass Castle and another half a day to the capital."

Chris nodded and began to walk back towards the group with Salome following. Ryan smiled at them and led both his brother and pony over to her. When they were just a few strides away, Geoffrey ran from the comfort of Ryan's shadow and all but leapt into his mother's arms. She lifted him effortlessly and felt him trembling in her embrace, clearly scared to death of all the sudden and confusing activity. She ran her fingers through his ash-blonde hair and kissed his cheek, but it only calmed him slightly. She whispered, "It's all right. Remember at breakfast when I said we were going on a trip? We're going to leave now. You're going to ride with me, all right?"

He put his hand into his mouth and bit on it as he nodded to her.

"Good," she said. "Salome is going to hand you to me. You remember him, right?"

Again Geoffrey nodded, cooperating as he was passed to the kindly knight.

Chris checked the security of the pack behind her saddle and then the tightness of her saddle's cinch. With one elegant and flawless motion, she swung herself atop the chestnut mare. The horse tossed its head as it pranced in place. A pat on its neck calmed the animal, and a moment later, she took Geoffrey into her arms. His anxiety was gone—like his brother and father, riding seemed to calm him more than anything.

Ryan mounted his chubby pony and poised himself as if he were sitting astride a regal charger. The portly bay wasn't interested in playing the part, though. Without warning to its young rider, the animal stretched its stumpy neck down for some grass, yanking the child forward onto its neck. Chris gave a small laugh at seeing this and teased him gently, "Ryan, do I need to put the lead on?"

He frowned at her and shook his head, the thick mass of dark brown hair flopping across his face as he pushed the pony forward to pick its head up, a clump of grass now hanging from its mouth.

"It might be for the best," Salome said as he turned his own mount to face the child. "The plains have been overrun with all sorts of beasts lately since we haven't had time to hunt them down." At the boy's disappointment, he softened his expression. "I know you are a capable rider, but your pony isn't battle trained. We wouldn't want him to get spooked and run off with you."

On any other day, Ryan would have protested, but today he just nodded solemnly as the man produced a length of rope from his saddle pack, leaned over, and tied it to the pony's bit. Salome gave a tug to get the animal's attention before nodding a cue to his knights to take their positions on opposite sides of the party.

* * *

The morning mist had finally lifted, but the haze around Borus Redrum was still fresh. Standing on the western bridge of Brass Castle, he was hoping the breeze would help sober him, but it didn't. Nothing was really helping. Nothing at all.

Whatever denial he had about the horrible situation had been melted away by the wine, but the guilt and anger remained with the morning's headache. He wasn't sure which of the two was worse, or even if they were within comparison, but they still consumed him. Losing men in battle was a way of life, but losing a friend was something of an entirely different caliber, even for one hardened by years of service in the army.

Friend…perhaps that was too light a term for the relationship. Friends were people one saw on occasion, and if time permitted, shared a drink with. Friends might chitchat about some inane happenings in their pathetic lives. But this went deeper than requisite socialization. This was a camaraderie bound by duty, friendship, and the shared love of a woman. This was a brotherhood.

If their similarities started with their swordsmanship, and ended with their adoration of Chris, it was everything in between that defined them as individuals--and complete opposites. Borus was intense, and Percival laid back. Borus was raised by wealthy traders and Percival on a farm. Borus was always the one to overreact and Percival the one to put things in perspective.

And overreacting was just what he was doing now. He clutched a piece of folded paper in his fist and shook it at the water below him. "You're going to make me deliver this, aren't you?"

The only answer he garnered was his reflection taunting him about having to fulfill their pact. It was something the two of them had started years ago, a morbid but crucial custom. Before they marched into battle, they would each write a letter to their families, seal the notes, and finally exchange them. In the past, it was part of their survival celebration to burn them while cursing the hell's demons they were at war with and drinking the coarse fortified wine from the nearest tavern. With a sigh, he replaced the note into his shirt, realizing that if there was a hell, and he wasn't in it already, he would be living it shortly when he handed the letter to Chris.

Chris, the woman he loved so much that he did all he could to ensure her happiness, even if meant she'd never love him.

Almost ten years ago, on this very bridge, he confessed his feelings to her. The world stopped at that moment as he anxiously awaited her response. When it finally did come, he was devastated. She couldn't love him because she was in love with another. He didn't have to ask whom. He knew, and it made him realize the cause of her depression that past year.

Although being rejected was shattering, all he could think about was her. The man she loved had left nearly a year prior to attend to some personal business, and she never did tell him how she felt. Seeing her so distraught made him decide what to do. In that second, he vowed to bring Percival back to her…and just like a fairy tale; they had lived happily ever after, until this.

To this day, nothing pained him more than to see her cry. She was the only thing he'd thought of when the news reached camp that her husband's battalion was gone. That was seven days ago. But seven days—four on the return to the fortress and another three stuck in it—hadn't done much of anything for him. The bottles of wine these past few days might have taken the edge off but did nothing to erase his feelings of guilt, nor resurrect Percival.

Borus leaned on the wall of the bridge, propping his head up on his hands as he looked down again at his reflection. He looked like a monster; his normally well-groomed blonde hair was frazzled, and his face was rough with torment. Three days' worth of stubble, combined with the dark circles under his eyes, made his cheeks look sallow.

He heard someone approaching, and even though the sun obscured the person's face, he knew who it was. The intruder's long, pointed ears revealed the identity of one of the few people who would dare to interrupt his sobering moments.

Roland faced him, and then asked a gentle question. "Too much to drink, Borus?"

"Not quite enough, if you must know," he growled in reply.

"This isn't going to make it better," the elf said sagaciously as he leaned on the wall with the other knight.

"Nothing will make it better."

"I have yet to grasp the human concept of drinking to remove one's problems. It doesn't seem to do you much good. And what does it yield as its sole reward? A headache?"

Borus' eyes were half-hooded in anger as he snarled, "Leave me alone."

"As you wish," Roland said, turning to depart.

While the elven archer was irritating, he was at least someone to talk to. Borus grabbed his arm and spun him around. "Salome should have let me go."

The reply was clipped, but still delivered with the utmost compassion. "The decision was made and has been executed. Regret at this point seems futile."

"She's probably coming here," he retorted, annoyed at Roland's completely detached answers.

"Probably. Why would she remain in that village? There's no one there for her save her children, and I doubt she would leave them behind and unprotected."

"Maybe. But I don't think she's just coming for a social call."

"You don't think she's going to march up to the Council and demand for them to hand over the Army so she can run off on a personal quest?" he asked as he gave Borus a sideways glance full of skepticism.

"You know Chris. If she wants something, she's going to get it," Borus said with certainty.

"I also know our Council."

Borus snorted. "That won't deter her. It won't even slow her down. You know she's not going to let this rest as long as there's hope he's still alive."

An apprehensive silence held between them. Then Roland spoke. "Can I ask you something, as a friend?"

"Of course," was his quiet response as he looked back down at his disheveled reflection.

"Are you not just jealous?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The blonde man glowered viciously to the elf.

"I mean what I say," Roland replied simply. "Are you not envious of the fact that it's not _you _she'll insist on looking for?"

"Shut up!" Borus snarled. "I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I don't want to see her putting herself in needless danger."

"So you don't wish for her return? I'm confused."

"I'm not surprised," he snapped. "You expect too much selfishness out of humans!" Glancing away and taking a long breath, he calmed himself before continuing in a morose tone. "I want her to stay out of this. Percival wanted her to stay out of this."

"So how does your not going to see her today have anything to do with that?"

"Salome never could talk her out of anything," Borus said flatly.

"Neither could you, as I recall," was the chilling, yet accurate response from the elf.

* * *

Warm magenta and orange skies provided a dramatic backdrop for Brass Castle as the group approached it. Over the treetops, Chris could see the merlons chewing at the sunset, and after another few turns, the massive structure in its entirety came into view. Even though she had spent most of her life at this place, its size and simple elegance always astonished her. The last time she had ventured here was nearly five years ago when Louis had been hurt. She didn't particularly care for it anymore; it was too reminiscent of her past life and perhaps too tempting.

That time before, there had been no light and no escort. She had made the ride alone in the darkness with Ryan seated before her on the saddle. It had been long and exhausting, but she pressed herself to do it. She wouldn't let Louis die without saying a final goodbye. She owed him that much. Fortunately, the information had been inaccurate, but it led to another absurd argument between her and Percival…though one that caused her to be more careful in the long run…

Having a room to himself was one of the few benefits Percival had earned, one that Chris was thankful for as she tucked the already sleeping Ryan into some blankets on the small sofa. The quarters weren't large by any stretch of the word, but they were certainly serviceable. The sparse furniture of a bed, dresser, sofa, desk and chair were arranged as attractively as they could be in the small space.

After she finished adjusting the covers on their son, she turned to see her husband standing before a small basin set atop the dresser, most of his face covered in a thick lather of soap. "You're still angry at me. I can tell."

Percival glanced up at her in the mirror, as he pulled a blade down his cheek. "I wouldn't call it anger, my dear."

"Well what would you call it?" She asked as she positioned herself next to him.

"Concern," he said gently.

She frowned and leaned on the edge of the dresser. "I'd assumed the messenger was correct and that Louis was going to leave us shortly."

He rinsed the blade in the bowl, shaking the water from it before continuing the conversation and the chore of shaving. "You can't believe a messenger that was sent for another reason, Chris. Besides, if that were the case, don't you believe that I would come get you myself?"

"I didn't care what he was there for—I wanted to know about you and the others."

"You should care," he scolded. "The whole reason we sent them was to warn the outlying villages of the attacks on the plains."

"Attacks?" Her stomach sank as she realized she was going to lose this battle.

He splashed some water on his face, rinsing away the remains of the soapy lather, and spoke to her through closed eyes. "Some spies killed a few of our knights while they were on routine patrol. We still haven't hunted all of them down. That's why two men carried the warning to Iksay and were ordered to remain there until dawn."

She handed him the small towel that hung on the side of the dresser. "Oh," she said as a silent prayer of thanks formed on her lips. Still slightly annoyed, she attempted to change the subject. "When will you be coming home? It's been almost six weeks since your last leave."

He patted his face dry, replaced the towel, and then responded to her. "I'm sorry. It's just been an incredibly busy month." With a wry smile, he added: "It's rather difficult to plan your vacation breaks around the demands of war, as you may recall."

She nodded, slightly ashamed of the complaint. "I just hopethis ends soon so you'll be with us more."

"It will," he said, taking her hands. "But in the meantime, I implore you to be more careful. You can't believe the fright I had when they woke me to tell me that you were here. I feared the worst. I thought Ryan was ill, or worse."

Her frustration was returning, and it carried in her voice. "You worry more than an old woman! You know I consider Louis to be my brother. Had the information been accurate and I had not made it in time, I would have never forgiven myself."

"I understand that, but again, what if something had happened to Ryan? Would you have forgiven yourself then? I don't know if I would forgive you if our child were killed because of your imprudence. It was a very foolish thing to do."

"Are you calling me a fool?" She hissed as she pulled her hands from his grasp.

"No, but your actions were certainly not wise," he said with gently raised brow. "Besides, if you insisted on making this trip alone at night, why didn't you leave him with one of the neighbors?"

She gave him a glare that could melt steel as she folded her arms across her chest and spoke in a tone full of righteous anger. "I didn't want to wake anyone! And I can certainly take care of myself! Did you forget who you married? Or do we need to go down to the training yard so I can remind you?"

He chuckled. "No, I haven't forgotten. I would never want to forget, but you being who you are doesn't make Ryan any less vulnerable. It just makes you a larger and more tempting target for the enemy."

Still frustrated, she glanced at Ryan, who was curled up in a content little ball on the sofa. "You don't need to worry so much."

A moment passed before he answered her, a quiet sadness reflected in his dark eyes. "You're asking me to do something impossible, you know."

"What are you talking about? It's a simple concept. Don't worry so much. Put some faith in me."

His voice didn't raise a notch as he responded; he spoke to her in the same velvet tone he always used. "Its not _that_ simple, I'm afraid. I can't pretend I don't love you or Ryan. I can't pretend that leaving you two alone all the time doesn't bother me, and I sure as hell can't pretend that I don't worry about you putting your life in danger! I couldn't before, and I can't now." After a breath, he continued with a grin, "I guess I'm just a little more willing to admit it to you now."

Her face still held a scowl, but she didn't say anything. He had the annoying habit of making good points, even if they made her look foolish. It was one of the things she loved about him. A perfect silence embraced them as she mulled over his words. Finally, she relented. "I'm sorry, Percy," she said, calling him by the nickname only she was allowed to use. "I'm sorry I caused you such grief."

His arms folded around her delicately, and he whispered into her ear, "I don't want to fight with you, Chris. I just hope you can see the issue through my eyes, and my heart. My mind knows how capable a soldier you are, but my heart sees my wife, not the Silver Maiden of Zexen." He took a breath and then gave the balance of his sentiment as he looked into her eyes. "And believe me when I say that my heart always defeats my head when it comes to the two I love most in this life."

He was right; there was no need to argue anymore. She knew that while he respected her ability to defend herself, he had every right to worry. Resting her head on his chest, she sighed. A month was a long time, a very long time.

Soft kisses breezed along her neck, one, then another, and another. When he found her lips, he hesitated just before touching them and said with a tender smirk, "You should never go to bed angry, my dear."

She returned the grin, knowing where this was headed, but didn't resist him—she couldn't, and didn't want to, despite her fatigue.

And so now, riding up to the fortress once more, she could count three things that came out of her last visit to Brass Castle. Her acceptance of his concern was one, Louis's new role was another, but the most important, the most sacred, was Geoffrey. With that memory in her heart, she squeezed the child tighter against her chest as the party moved forward into a trot. His hair bounced in rhythm with the horse's stride, and the jerky gait caused him to giggle, a sound which brought a smile to his mother's tired face.

As they neared the eastern bridge, Salome slowed the group to a walk. The horses' hooves clipped loudly on the stones, announcing their arrival. Softly glowing torches lined the way through the portcullis, their light creating a ghostly, shadowy passage into the commons. A few men were standing there involved in a deep discussion. Upon noticing their Captain and his harshly whispered command, they snapped to attention.

The party dismounted, and the sentries saw to the horses. The children were fed, put to bed, and plans for the morning were set. She was thankful for the discreet arrival; being mobbed was not something she needed at the moment. No, a group of people harassing her about her plans or offering stale words of sympathy was the _last_ thing she wanted. She knew that what she needed was to talk to a friend, and she knew exactly where to find him.

Down she went to a small tavern inside the castle proper that had always been favorite place for many of the ranking knights. At a table in the back corner he sat, his only company a bottle of wine. She knew he'd be there; he never did like to drink in the solitude of his quarters, although drinking alone never bothered him. As she approached, he rose to his feet and bowed his head in greeting and respect. She took a seat in the chair opposite to him as he waved to a barmaid for another glass.

Returning to his seat, Borus asked, "The children are asleep, then?"

"Yes, they were exhausted. Salome is graciously letting us use his quarters." She nodded in gratitude to the girl who brought the glass, and she watched as her friend poured her a measure of the wine.

"Good," he said, handing her the drink. "What about you?"

"I don't want to sleep, and I doubt I could even if I wanted to." She fixed her gaze on him over her glass as she brought it to her lips. "You must tell me what happened. Salome couldn't give too many details, since he wasn't there for most of it, but I know you were."

The grimace on his face and the way he took a large swallow of the vintage said that he didn't want to discuss this, but since she asked, he would divulge. "What did he tell you?"

"Only that he wasn't sure you were fighting the Tinto army."

"We weren't. We haven't been for some time now, but the Council doesn't want that information getting out."

"I don't understand," she said, taking another sip of the wine. It was quite good, far too good to be something the tavern would serve, so she guessed he had probably taken it from his collection.

"Neither do I. Our Council's motives never made any sense to me, and they still don't. Regardless, for the past year or so, our enemies have been fighting more like ruthless mercenaries than any army I've ever encountered."

"Mercenaries?"

"Yes, and highly trained. They snuck up on us, Chris. They snuck up on us in the middle of the day!"

"Start from the beginning, Borus. Don't leave anything out."

He ran a hand through his blond hair and poured himself another glass before starting the tale. "All right. Part of the land Tinto recently acquired is Dubios. I don't know who had it last. I never was good at keeping up with things like that. Anyway, it's a small port town surrounded by forest on three sides and by sea on the other. We thought it would be a good place to strike since the terrain would be something we were used to rather than their dusty mining towns.

"That morning we left camp, with a plan to ride into the city gates and attack. Our scouts had told us that the road through the forest split at a glade, and that from there one went to the city's main entrance, one to the eastern entrance and one to the western gate. So we split up as planned. Leo went down the center, Roland and Salome stayed right there, I went to the left and Percival to the right." He paused, and then added, "We expected to encounter resistance, but not so far out in the forest.

"I took my men down our path, and we stayed on the ready. Suddenly, they sprang out of the tree limbs and jumped down on us. There was no sound from above, no warning, no nothing. They were ruthless and even stooped to using poison darts on us—it was anything but an honorable fight.

"I called a retreat and we left, but they didn't follow. I thought they would, after having seen how little regard they had for the rules of war."

"War has never had rules, Borus. You should know that by now," she interrupted and held up her glass for him to refill.

"Protocols, then. Call them what you will, but even those damned Grassies showed more decency than these people.

"Anyway, I was surprised they let us retreat. We made it back to camp, took care of the injured, all of that. And then we waited. Roland came back. So did Salome. Then Leo. We were all getting anxious, but Salome kept saying that maybe they had made it into the city." He took another sip from his glass and stared down into it. "Then darkness fell, and we still waited."

She ran the tip of her finger around her glass and looked at him, her eyes begging him to finish the tale. "And…what then?"

He reached across the table and gently held her hand. "Chris, I wanted to go right then. It had started to rain, and there were sounds of thunder, but I didn't care. I was already on my horse by the time Salome found out. He grabbed my reins, and we argued. He kept saying by leaving I would give away our position, I would put more lives in danger, and that before we did anything we should wait until the morning, just like we usually did—just in case."

"He was right," she said tersely, taking another drink.

He didn't bother to argue the point with her; both of them knew Salome had made a sound decision, even if Borus was reluctant to admit it. He squeezed her hand just a bit tighter as he continued the gruesome story. "I waited all night at the front of camp. I didn't even care about the rain. I just kept hoping someone would come back with news, or something."

He took another hearty sip from the winein front of him before going on. "Finally, it was morning. Leo and I set out with some men. Roland and Salome stayed behind to start packing up camp, since we had suffered many losses and needed to just get out of there. Eventually we came to the place where we had split up. All of us rode in the direction Percival had gone, being extra careful, since our enemy was cowardly enough to not grant us a fair warning the day before.

"About half a league from that place, we found signs of a battle. Although the night rain had washed most of the blood away, we could still tell it had been fierce one, judging from the look of the scarred ground, and the number of dead enemies. They were laying on the ground where they fell, as if their own people had considered them of no importance, even in death."

He took another breath, followed by another sip of his drink. "At that point we found hope. Since there wasn't a piece of Zexen armor to be seen, or any of our dead, we thought that maybe they had made it into the city. So we rode on, and less than a quarter of a league away, our hopes were dashed."

"You found the weapons," she said flatly.

"Yes milady, but did Salome explain about them?"

"Explain? I could tell he used the sword – most of the blood had washed off, but the nicks were still in it."

"No, not that. When we found the weapons, they were arranged in a pattern."

"A pattern?"

"Yes," he said, taking another as if to fortify himself. "All of them were stuck in the ground, set in four concentric circles."

At her puzzled look, he explained further, "Percival's sword was in the center, then twenty, forty, sixty and finally eighty. All two-hundred-and-one weapons were left there, placed to look like a bull's eye. "

"So he surrendered," she said, trepidation creeping into her voice.

He shook his head. "I don't think so, but I'm sure that the weapons were deliberately set that way. The circles were too perfect—not like he and his men had just thrown their weapons to the ground."

"How…odd."

"Yes."

He poured the last bit from the bottle between their glasses, and they spent a few moments sipping the fine red wine in silence. Such a vintage was too nice for this occasion, but neither of them mentioned the waste. This was a time for somber thoughts and reflection, not wine tasting.

Finally, to break the silence, Borus asked a question. It was delivered in such an acidic tone, that it had obviously been bothering him. "So does knowing any of that change your mind?"

"Change my mind?"

"Don't play innocent, Chris. It doesn't suit you." He narrowed his dark eyes at her. "I know you are not here to just 'pass through' to Vinay del Zexay. You'll go there, I'm sure, but to see the Council and to reclaim your position as Captain."

"So what if I am?" she asked, an edge forming on her words.

He finished his glass in one uncouth gulp. "You have children. Take them home and stay with them."

She glared at him. "I can't. I have to do this. I have to stop this. Can't you see that?"

He shook his head at her. "You honestly think they are just going to take you back? You think you can walk in there and expect the Council to hand you everything you want on a silver platter when they barely give us enough money to feed our men?"

"I'll do what I have to do, Borus," she said, putting the full authoritative tone from her days of command into her voice.

He gave her a grin full of good-natured contempt and conceded. "Of course you will. You always have." He reached into his shirt and produced the cursed piece of paper, then slid it across the table to her. "I promised I'd deliver this to you."

She stared at it for a moment, and then let her fingers trace the hardened seal it bore. It seemed premature, and the texture of the seal told her it was wrong to accept this unwelcome gift. With a shake of her head, she pushed it back to him. "No. Not until we know he's dead. Keep it for now."

With a slight nod he replaced it in his shirt. "Yes, milady."


	4. Chapter Three

**Missing in Action **

** Chapter Three**

* * *

Percival Fraulein wished he was dead. 

Gazing down into the meager offering of a breakfast of gruel, he bowed his head in quiet prayer. The guards had already expressed their disapproval of his earlier devotions and the bruises were now taking on a disturbing array of colors. Still, Sadie had been good to him before, and as he offered thanks for the food, he added a plea for her to just take him from this world and send him to whatever afterlife he had earned. Even Hell would seem to be an improvement over this misbegotten hole. 

How had they arrived at this place? He wasn't sure. His recollection of the fight was a jumble of images and shouted curses, as if he had been under a spell or the victim of some drug induced miasma. What few pieces he could recall were all too generic and could have been his imagination trying to fill in the blank holes of his memory. Still, he remembered the ride through the forest and to the city had seemed too uneventful, almost boring in fact. His men had kept their weapons drawn, but even after two hour's march from the meeting place nothing had happened, and he could see some of them starting to relax their guard. His own suspicions had been running high as he tried to find explanations for the abnormally tranquil forest. He remembered thinking that maybe the enemy was just waiting for them inside the city…it had seemed like the only rational answer at the time. 

A noise above his head had made him look up. It was as shrill call, hauntingly familiar and loud enough to be heard over the clank of his group's armor and horses. At first he had thought it was a bird, but then it came again, and then again from the trees just ahead. He remembered calling the battalion to a halt, and that must have been the opportunity the enemy had been waiting for. Dozens of large, round, objects had pelted them from all directions with an obviously practiced precision, and bounced onto the ground before rolling to a stop. It had taken a moment for the knight to realize that none of his men had actually been struck, and his gaze turned to follow the bouncing and rolling balls. A copious coldness sank into his heart when he saw them continue moving until they formed a circle around his group. At that moment, each had burst open and began spewing a strange, eye-scorching blue smoke that quickly filled the air around his soldiers. 

Through the sudden mist he had seen his men falling in their tracks as they gasped for breath under the venomous clouds. Those on horses had tried to fight back, swinging their swords against the smoke, but more enemies had dropped from the trees, ripping them from their mounts. Percival drew his sword and swung it wildly, feeling impacts that told him that it had hit its mark at least four times, despite his inability to see clearly though the ever-increasing blue haze. 

More balls came from the trees then, falling at the feet of those still struggling, and claiming those few that were still conscious enough to hold a weapon. Percival had felt himself suddenly smash into something hard and unyielding, realizing as the darkness enfolded him that it could only be the ground, as the mysterious azure mist mercifully obliterated the rest of the battle. 

When he was finally able open his eyes, he found himself blindfolded, his armor and weapon gone, his feet bound, and his hands secured to a piece of wood behind him. From the slow, rocking movement and the creakiness of the wheels, he guessed he was being transported in a tumbrel. 

They had traveled for a little more than a day, at least he thought they had, since time quickly lost it's meaning without sight to mark its passage. However long it had been, it was clear his captors chose to ignore him, offering their prey neither food nor water during the journey. Finally they arrived at their unseen destination where he was marched into the darkness around a series of twists and turns until he entered what would probably become his tomb. It was only then, when he were secured and the blindfold removed; that he felt both elation and despair as he realized that he was not the only survivor. _I led them to this,_ was the heart-wrenching thought that still gashed him every time he glanced around their prison. 

Their prison…wherever they had ended up, it was certainly underground. He guessed it to be an abandoned mine, but he wasn't sure. It was chokingly dusty, yet there was the odd feeling of damp earth at the same time, and sunlight never found it's way into the place. What bit of light that carried through the darkness came in the form of torches held by their captors, during the two brief daily visits when food was thrown at them. 

Perhaps it was for the better that he couldn't see much of their prison, since the smell of it alone turned his stomach. It was rough and crudely carved, but he could tell that both the walls and the floor were made naturally rather than with mortar and brick. No straw was provided, no bucket, nothing except an iron collar for each man, which kept him tethered to the wall behind him. All around the perimeter of this large alcove they were tied, the short leash of chain ensuring that they would all remain seated or prone, since there was not enough slack for even the smallest man to stand. 

But that wasn't the only thing keeping them here. Every time the men came to feed them, they would lower themselves down on some sort of mechanical lift. Percival finally realized that there was a hole in the center of the room—cut high into it's domed ceiling so even if one could get out of his chains, he would have no way of reaching it. The hole seemed to reach down below their prison as well. The sounds and stenches that came up from the pit filled them all with horror and the promise of an even more painful death that lurked underneath. 

And so, since their capture, they lay there day after day, not knowing who had caught them or what their fate would be. There was neither dignity nor humanity in any of it, as they reeked of their own sweat and slept in their own urine or worse. Many times Percival would hear his men moaning and sobbing in the darkness, and he never once blamed them for doing so, especially since he was guilty of it himself. 

Lifting the bowl to his mouth, he drank the meal. It tasted like nothing, and lasted for less than a minute. There was no point in savoring it, or saving it. Placing the empty bowl back down to the floor, he watched as the guards made their way around the room. They were quickly dropping a ladleful of slop into the dish in front of each prisoner and tossing in a few hate filled words as well. One man in close proximity to him didn't wake, even after the guards slapped him. Again and again they struck the man, but he still didn't move. They didn't fill his bowl. He was dead. Merciful Sadie had come for him. The men unchained him, and tossed him down the pit in the center of the prison without so much as a word. 

It was true that Percival wished the same fate for himself, but it wasn't so much because of these horrendous conditions he was forced to endure, just that he knew his wife too well. Chris wouldn't be sitting at home waiting for him to return or even mourning. She was probably already on her horse, riding the small amount of hope that he was alive and exploiting every lead, calling in every favor, and doing anything and everything to find him. 

Chris. Beautiful, intelligent, extraordinary Chris. Thoughts of her and his children were keeping him alive, since the food certainly wasn't. She was an intoxicating mix of impetuousness and impossibility, and he loved her for it. In times past, he'd cheer her on as she tackled a new and imposing task, but now he prayed that she was safely at home with their sons. 

It was a futile wish, and he knew it, but he still figured it couldn't hurt. Again he whispered a plea for death--a death that was swift and confirmed. At least then Chris wouldn't need to take any risks. At least then she wouldn't be troubled by the possibility of his return. At least then she could live her life and maybe even enjoy it…even if that meant her remarrying. 

They had discussed _that_ on occasion. It was never a pleasant conversation for either of them, but it was still something he wanted her to understand. He didn't expect her to live her entire life as a widow, and given this stalemate war, he felt one day that's what she would become. It wouldn't be fair. Each time he'd leave her, he'd whisper that her happiness was all that he cared about, and ever time he wrote one of those accursed letters, he'd reiterate it. 

He hoped Borus had already delivered that damn letter and tried to talk some sense into Chris. Maybe it would be enough to convince her not to do anything rash. Maybe she would listen. Maybe…since Borus was such a close friend…maybe she'd pay him more heed than someone else. He held his breath as a hopeful but still heartrending thought hit him…maybe they would find comfort in each other. 

He sighed, the small bit of wasted breath pushing itself out of his desiccated mouth as he thought of Chris. Oh how he loved her! But if he had to see her with another man, he prayed it would be Borus. It was no secret that his closest friend had always loved his wife. It was also no secret that his friend had brought the two of them together all those years ago. No, Borus hadn't just given him a bit of friendly advice, but delivered a whole life-changing proposition after tragedy struck nearly eleven years ago... 

~~~~~~ 

Following the Second War of the Fire Bringer, a time of great peace finally rested upon the Zexen people. Trade flourished, fortunes were made, but the knights who had so bravely defended their country became little more than enforcers and bodyguards for the Council. It depressed Chris to see her men used as the personal property of the Guildmasters and their friends. It dismayed all of them, but if war was the alternative, then so be it. 

During this time Percival wondered daily if he wouldn't be of more use elsewhere. Iksay village was still in shambles from the war, and while he didn't want to abandon Chris and the others, it ate at him that he should be there helping in any measure that he could. A few weeks later the decision to return home was made for him. News came that his mother had been struck with the screaming sickness, a disease that all too often proved fatal in the women who contracted it. He didn't hesitate to ask for leave, and while Chris gave it, he would never forget the conversation or the sorrow in her eyes. 

She sat at her desk, dressed in her uniform, her hair up in plaits, but as she read the request he had given her, the official stoicism she normally wore on her face seemed to fade. "Of course I'll grant it, but you will return, won't you?" There was an odd desperation in her voice, one he hadn't heard before. 

"I hope to, milady, but I will have to see what happens." 

"I understand. My prayers will be with you and your family." 

"Thank you, milady." He gave her a quick bow of his head before crossing his arm across his chest. 

She returned the salute and added, "If there's anything I can do, Percival…" 

He smiled before turning to leave. "I appreciate the offer, milady, but please don't trouble yourself with my trivial personal problems. You have more important things that demand your time." 

"Percival," she called his name plaintively, causing him to turn and face her once again. "May I ride with you?" 

He hesitated, not expecting the question. "I don't want to burden you with this, milady. Besides, I would never forgive myself if you were to catch the disease." 

She nodded, although a tiny sigh slipped through her lips. He was right; it was too dangerous for her. For some reason, the sickness only affected females. "Then I'll have Borus and Leo escort you. It's not wise to travel alone." 

"Thank you milady, but that isn't necessary." 

"Consider it an order, Percival. I regret that I won't be at the gate to see you off. I prefer to offer my farewells in private." She took his hand and smiled up at him, offering a simple prayer. "May the Goddess bless your path. Safe travels, my friend." 

He lifted her hand to his lips and gave it a simple kiss, and again offered his gratitude. Then he turned and left, glancing over his shoulder to catch her touching the back of her hand to her cheek. 

And so he returned to Iksay, only to learn that his mother had passed on the night before, and now his dear sister had become infected with the screaming sickness. Watching the once vibrant Seline suffer as the disease ravaged her broke his heart. The poor woman was only five years his senior, but here she was, dying like an old hag. She had no strength, no soul in her eyes after it started with just a simple fever, and that fever never broke. She began sweating, so much that the sheets were soaked in a matter of hours and no amount of prayers or medicine would abate it. Then the vomiting started, and eventually the fever caused deliria. Poor Seline started the moaning and screaming which had given this malady its name. Nothing could be done. There was no cure. She howled herself hoarse for four days, and finally, she fell mercifully silent. 

Perhaps the worst thing about Seline's tragic death was that her young daughter could not be brought to see her in those final hours for fear of the girl catching this plague. Little Victoria was but ten years old and terrified. Her mother was dead, and her father had been killed years ago defending the town from bandits. The only family she had left was Percival, and so at that moment his temporary leave became a permanent one. 

For fifteen months things were the same. He would get up in the morning, take care of the animals, work in the fields, assist with some of the perpetual reconstruction, and then return to the girl in the evening. Torrie did what she could to help, but it wasn't much. She could help plant and harvest, bring water to the men and other such menial tasks, but even though she was determined to pull her weight, she was still just a child. 

Then word came that Zexen was at war with Tinto over some nonsense involving trade routes. It didn't surprise Percival when the messages from Brass Castle started arriving, asking him to return. He would always decline, even though the memory of Chris with the hand he had just kissed pressed to her cheek haunted him. Unexpectedly, one October evening, fate again intervened. This time, with the help of Borus. 

Percival walked back from the fields just as he did every night. Carrying an empty sack that had held seeds earlier in the day, he glanced up at the still broken skyline formed by the patched-together homes. The harvest had come again, and while this was normally a happy time in Iksay village, his thoughts were as distant as the breezes that combed the windmills. The townspeople were too busy trying to reap their fields in the hopes of a better crop than the last year, when the still scorched fields produced little grain. There had not been enough for reseeding in the spring, let alone enough to fill their bellies during the harsh winter. Eating was definitely a priority here, and the buildings that had taken the wrath of the Lizard Clan still hadn't been fully repaired, rebuilt or replaced. While a bit of progress had been made in the months of summer, the once bustling village still looked much like it did after the night it was set ablaze nearly two years ago. 

He trudged back into the town, stopping only at the small shop—the _only_ shop—to trade a pocketful of grape seeds for some vegetables for dinner. Like many of the other villagers, his money had run out months ago. The seeds should have been planted, but when faced with the choice of eating now or eating later, there was no debate. He placed them on the counter and waited for the shopkeeper to fill his bag with whatever she had in stock that day._ Life seemed so much easier when it was threatened every day by swords and spears, now it's all I can do to keep us alive…better to die from a foe's sword than another harsh winter…_

"I put a few extra in," the woman said. 

"That isn't necessary." 

"Yes it is. Take it and be grateful. You've done an awful lot for all of us. It's the least I can do for you." 

Percival didn't meet her eyes as he nodded solemnly; being reminded of his old life was never a pleasant experience. "Thank you," he said as he pulled his bag onto his shoulder and left the store. He started walking towards his home, being careful to keep his eyes on the ground in a juvenile attempt to prevent his thoughts from wandering too far from his surroundings. 

He was only fifteen strides from the door to his home when a voice he had long forgotten called to him. "Percival!" He closed his eyes, and whispered a wish that the sound he was hearing was just his tired body and empty stomach playing tricks on him. 

He didn't turn around as he gave a curt response, "Didn't you get the note I sent with the last messenger, Borus? I am not leaving. I'm sorry, but I have things to do here." 

Borus circled around him, delivering his response as he brushed a hand through his blonde hair and adjusted the large pack he carried on his back. "I understand that, and I can respect that, but I still need to talk to you." 

Percival shrugged. "I have to make dinner. Feel free to join us. It won't be much, but its something." Without looking back to see if the other was following, he walked up to the door of the tiny house and went inside. 

He always made a show of putting dinner together for Torrie. She would giggle and clap as he flipped the vegetables into the air and then chopped them quickly as they landed, often in mid-bounce. Normally he would drag out these moments to entertain the girl, but given the unwanted presence of his visitor, he hurried through the process and fed everyone. With almost no comment, he picked up the dishes, cleaned them, kissed Torrie good night and tucked her in. 

When he was finally satisfied that the girl was asleep, he took a seat at the crude wooden table, and faced his comrade. "So you came all this way. What do you need to talk to me about?" 

"Chris," was the soft reply. 

That one syllable caused Percival to close his dark eyes for a moment. Was she dead? Is that why Borus had ridden all the way here by himself? That had to it. He felt a lump form in his throat as he asked the dreaded question. "What about her?" 

"She wants you to come back." 

"She sent you?" He asked, finding solace in the fact that she was indeed alive. 

"No. She doesn't know I'm here." 

"I see," he replied, even though he still didn't understand. "But you know I can't come back. I can't leave the village or Torrie. Look around this place, Borus. It's going to die. There's no money to repair what the Lizards did, the disease killed off nearly half the population, and we're all just trying to get something out of the fields so we can eat. Goddess knows what we'll use for seed come planting time. There won't be anything left." 

"I know. I read your last letter. That's another reason I'm here." 

"Oh? Please tell me the Council has finally decided to help us." 

"No." 

"I didn't think so. I know we're not what they consider a priority." 

"But I have some good news," Borus said as he reached into his pack. 

Percival raised an eyebrow as his friend produced four scrolls of parchment and a bottle of wine. "Good news?" 

"How about a drink? I brought one of my best vintages with me. Besides, we'll be celebrating here in a few moments, I hope." 

Percival grinned at his friend, shaking his head in disbelief. Borus was up to something-- _that_ was certain. Wine was a rare and welcomed luxury, and the smile on his friend's face had always been infectious. "I'll get some mugs. We don't have glasses, so they'll have to do." 

The wine was poured and it was indeed something special. It had just the right flavor, aroma and bite that wine should have, but Borus did know his wines. It was almost a gift that he had—knowing exactly what spirits to have for what occasion. This time, it was a soft red that smelled of times past and old friendship, with a hint of good-natured rivalry. 

Percival kept his eyes on the scrolls, waiting for his companion to unfurl at least one of them. They looked rather official, the kind of documents only used for the most serious of declarations and usually not bearing good news. 

Borus picked up his glass and nervously swirled the liquid within as he leaned back as nonchalantly as possible. "Did you forget the oath you made to Chris when we were stuck in that hellhole?" 

Percival frowned, shaking his head and giving a short and unexplained response. "No." 

"You swore, just as I did, to fight by her side no matter what, did you not?" 

"I did. But circumstances change. I could not in good faith leave the only family I have and my home here to perish while off fighting another war." 

"I understand that, as does Chris, but—" 

Percival leaned forward, almost sneering at the blonde as he interrupted him. "Besides, I'm surprised you're not ecstatic that I'm gone. It was fun being your rival for her affections, but it did get old after awhile." 

Borus grinned, trying to make light of the situation. "Well I did have some inside help. Salome always rallied to my cause." 

"I noticed." 

"And _I_ noticed how she would smile when you would tease her. No one _else_ could make fun of her and survive with his hide intact, but you always could--and get away with it." 

Percival smirked as he took a sip of wine, knowing that his friend spoke the truth on that fact. "Regardless, I've dropped out of the race. I'm surprised you haven't wed her yet." He smiled broadly as he teased the other knight and gestured to the scrolls, "Or is that the real reason for your visit? You've come to gloat and invite me to the wedding." 

"No," the blonde man said as he shook his head morosely. "No, I haven't wed her. I tried to court her, but—" 

"But what?" 

"Chris isn't in love…at least not with me," Borus said quietly, his tone paining on the reality he was admitting out loud. He poured some more wine and then drank a sip quickly before giving the balance of his statement. "It's impossible to have a relationship with a woman when she is in love with another man." 

Percival didn't know what to say, so he just stared at his friend with incredulity. The mighty Borus, the man who feared nothing, was here admitting his defeat in the race of races. 

Borus looked straight into the dark eyes of his comrade. "Now don't get me wrong. I still love her, I will always love her, and that is why I am here doing this for her. She has been miserable since you left. She claims that without you, we can't win now that we're back at war, and I think some of the truth of it is that she doesn't have the will to win without you. She needs you now, so I am here to bring you back to her." 

He turned away, not wanting to hear the other knight's rhetoric, no matter how gratifying it might have been. "That's utter crap." 

"You know I would be the last person to admit this, but its true. She's happy when you're around. You keep her laughing even when things are looking grim. You help her keep that spark, that drive, that self assurance that she needs." 

"You know the predicament I am in," was the clipped retort. 

The blonde knight slammed his fist into the table at the other's stubbornness. "You can't just abandon her! Circumstances may have changed but your pledge to Chris and your love for her has not! I'll bet you sit here every night and wonder what is going on in our part of the world. You curse the bad hand that life has dealt you but you don't trade in your cards just because you don't like them. Life isn't a game, and even if it were you've won it, Percival! Don't you hear me? You won and I concede defeat!" 

"And what cards should I draw? Life or game, I can only play the hand given to me!" He spat. "I have a responsibility here, and I will honor it." 

"Don't double talk me! Are you saying that you don't care for her?" Borus asked, his voice becoming irate and acidic. 

It was a passionate and aggravated reply: "Of course not! I would go to hell and back for her! I would slay a hundred Grassies in her name! I would—" 

Borus cut him off. "Then prove it. Stop moping around feeling sorry for yourself and get back to her." 

Percival shook his head. "I don't feel sorry for myself. I'm doing the right thing even if it isn't my first choice. Besides, what am I do with Torrie? Put her in a convent!? What about the village? They need every pair of hands they can get." 

"No," was calm reply. "I have a solution." 

Percival waved his hand dismissively. "This should be good. But if it involves a brothel then you'd best start running now." 

"Of course not! I would never insult your family. Insinuating I would is appalling." 

"Sorry. Let's hear it." 

The blonde knight took a deep breath and held up one of the scrolls. "These are contracts with various Guilds from Vinay del Zexay. In two week's time you will have brick masons, glaziers, carpenters and thatchers here to repair your village." 

"Borus, we can't afford them," he said as his hand froze, the mug raised halfway to his lips to take another sip of the wine. 

"They've already been paid. You will only have to provide them with shelter and food." 

He nearly choked on the drink. "Where did you—" 

"Get the money for this? All of these Guilds owe my father considerable sums and were all too eager to enter into these contracts to work off their debts." 

"I can't accept this. It's too much," he said, his tone hesitant with astonishment. 

"Consider it a wedding present," Borus replied with a wink as he finished his glass. 

Percival felt his face pale at the word 'wedding' although blind hope filled his soul. "That's quite generous and I'm sure the villagers will be thrilled, but it doesn't solve the problem of my niece. I can't just leave her in the castle wondering if I'll be coming home that night." 

"Let her go live with my parents. She'll be educated by some of the finest scholars, and raised in the life of a gentlewoman." 

"I'll have to ask her. I don't want to force something like this upon her." He said, staring down into his glass in thought. "But she would be safe and never know hunger again." 

The next morning he extended Borus's offer to Torrie without divulging any of his own desires. It was only fair that way. He didn't want to pressure her to leave the only home she'd ever known. Surprisingly, she was all too eager to go along with the plan. Indeed, from the moment it was first discussed until they left, she talked constantly about the things she wanted to do in the city, and how she wanted to learn the lessons taught to women of privilege. 

And so it happened that fate was changed once again, this time by the grace of Borus's infinite generosity. The Guildsmen arrived as scheduled, Torrie went to live with the Redrum family, and Percival rejoined the knights. Though he would never claim credit for what followed, it was nonetheless true that the war with Tinto turned in their favor only weeks after his return, and less than three months later an armistice was signed. 

This made Chris happy, but that quickly changed into disappointment when the Army was once again turned into the strong arm for the Council. In those months of both war and peace, of triumph and frustration, the two of them grew closer. Their relationship was not one that was kept in secret, but still exercised with discretion. 

Some six months or so later it happened--the inevitable outcome of such a romance. He found Chris sitting in her quarters that evening, staring out the window. She didn't even turn around when he opened the door. He called her name, but still no response. Approaching her, he heard something he thought would never come from the Silver Maiden—the sound of her crying. 

Only when he put his hand on her shoulder did she face him, and the tears were still fresh on her delicate cheeks. He pulled her into an embrace, and let her cry on him. Although Percival was known for his ability with words, at this moment he just couldn't find any to comfort her. 

It was no mystery to him why she was upset. There they had been, just that afternoon, escorting an important merchant and his family across the plains. She and Leo had been at the back guarding the family in their carriage, while he was at the front with the goods. Bandits attacked him, and rather than hold her position, she rode to his rescue. Leo had done his best to hold off the thieves on his own when they went for the coach, but her error had already been made. Emotions had taken over the mechanical thinking she had been taught for so many years, and now she hated herself for it. 

Finally she spoke, the words smothered against his chest. "I made a terrible mistake." 

"No one was hurt, my dear." 

"Someone could have been." 

"True, but they weren't." 

"If I hadn't…If Leo hadn't been as fast as he was, one of those children could have been killed." 

"But Leo wasn't too slow. He's never been too slow and you knew that when you made your decision." When she didn't respond, he desperately tried to make light of the situation. "You know, my dear, I've always said that experience is the worst teacher. She gives the test first and lesson afterwards." 

Chris wasn't in the mood for his witticism. "Please, Percy. Be serious. I did what no knight worth his armor should--I let my emotions get the best of me." 

"So learn from it. Don't assign yourself on missions with me if you think my presence will affect your objectivity." 

She shook her head and pulled away from him. The tears had stopped, but he could tell that this was devouring her. "I don't think that will help. I'd drive myself crazy wondering if you were all right." 

He frowned. "What are you thinking, my love?" 

There was a long, eerie pause, until finally she gave the answer he dreaded. "I'm thinking that I have come to realize that I can't have it both ways. I can't ride in front of you as your superior during the day and sleep next to you at night as your lover." 

"I understand, milady," he said simply, desperately trying to mask the agony her words were causing him. 

She turned to him, a small smile growing on her anguished features. "I don't believe you do. I'm retiring. I will ride to Vinay del Zexay tomorrow and tell the Council in person. Salome will replace me. I've already asked him." 

He stared at her, dumbfounded. "Chris—" 

She interrupted him and held up her hand that bore the True Water Rune. "Don't argue with me. I'm tired of _this_, and this life. I still have nightmares about that child I killed in Karaya. I still feel like his soul haunts me, even after all these years." 

He nodded solemnly. He knew the rune and its curse of immortality was something that had been troubling her but there was a solution. With a gentle kiss to her cheek, he took her blighted hand. "We'll have to go to Alma Kinan, but I'm sure they can seal it." 

"Yes. They did once before. The Council won't be happy, though." 

"Do you really care what the Council wants?" He asked quietly. 

"I suppose not, although they might accuse me of treason." 

"No one in this country would ever believe something like that. They'd be stupid to try it." He chuckled for a moment. "They could be accused of arrogance and greed with impunity, but never stupidity." 

"True." She smiled at him, a splash of color spreading on her cheeks. "There's one other thing I want, but by tradition, you should be the one to bring it up." 

Although what she was implying had crossed his mind many times, he never was sure if he should mention it. "As if tradition has stopped you before," he said with a smirk, which was poorly hiding his blissful anxiety. 

"Well, there is some romanticism in this tradition, and I wouldn't want to be the one to spoil it." 

He was still in elated shock. "Chris, are you sure you want to throw your career away for me?" 

"Don't flatter yourself," she teased. "I've been looking for an excuse to retire, and you're as good as any, I suppose. Besides, what is it that you said to me when we were still just cadets? 'Any man with a rank above lieutenant is a horse's ass.' Maybe I'm just tired of being a horse's ass." 

He laughed and then gave a facetious defense. "Any man, yes. I didn't say any woman."

"Hair splitting, my dear. Hair splitting." She said as she pulled the stray lock that always fell in his face out of his eyes. 

He grinned at her, but there was one complication he wanted to be sure she understood. "You do know they'll strip you of your title and land if—" 

She placed a finger to his lips. "Let them. I don't give a damn." 

It started as a fairytale…they both resigned and the rune was sealed. It was going to be perfect, it _was_ perfect. They enjoyed the quiet life Chris had wanted in the newly built Iksay and had a child. 

But it was a short-lived happiness. 

Two years later, the treaty was dissolved, the war with Tinto had started again, and duty was something neither of them could deny. They talked about it, debated it, slept on it, but there was only one answer—he would have to go back. Seven years from that day, when he returned to Brass Castle the second time, seven years, another child, countless lonely nights, and they were still at war…with no end in sight. 

~~~~~~ 

_Chris…_His mind was about to find pleasure in thinking of how perfectly his hand fit on the curve of her hip, when a noise from above rudely yanked him back into the reality of the prison. 

The platform in the center was dropping, but it was too early for another meal. He peered off into the darkness, trying to see who had bothered to descend into this place. Torches were quickly produced and carried to the two people on the lift. Although weakness and distance clouded his vision, he could make out that one was short and thin, with a black beard and long, black hair. The other was fat, blonde, clean-shaven, and wore a bright red bandana. Both were well dressed—too well dressed to be in a hole like this. 

His men noticed this change, and all of them grew gravely silent. The young fair-haired man who was chained next to him whispered in fright. "Sir? Sir, do you think they are here to ransom us or kill us?" 

Percival shook his head as much as his collar allowed. "I don't know. Have faith, Shamus." 

"Yes sir," was the faltering reply. 

The echoes of the chamber carried the conversation of the two new arrivals louder than they had probably anticipated, and Percival listened intently. 

The fat man spoke to one of the guards, his voice scratchy and grating. "How many have you lost?" 

"Ten." 

The short man scowled, but the answer came from the fat man's lips. "That's ten too many. I trust that for your sake the one we want wasn't one of them." 

"I think they want to kill you sir," Shamus said. 

"Perhaps, but we'll just have to see." 

Turning to address the captive audience, the fat man bellowed in his annoying, gloating voice as he tossed his hands into the air for dramatic effect. "Lo! But it seems we have caught some of Zexen's finest knights in our web! Listen to me, you miserable bastards! You have the honor of being in the presence of our esteemed Captain, so do nothing that would raise his ire." He motioned to the bearded man, who only gave a silent nod. "The Captain would like to speak with your commanding officer. If you are this man, speak now." 

Before Percival could open his mouth, Shamus called out, "That's me." 

He whispered to the young man, "What the hell are you doing?" 

"It is an honor to be your decoy, sir." 

"Shamus…" 

Three guards moved quickly towards the young idealist. They took his collar off, and held their blades to his throat as they walked him towards the platform, forcing him to kneel before the now-sneering Captain. 

The fat man gave a malicious smile. "We know the man we seek has dark hair, but your loyalty is admirable. However, your dishonesty displeases the Captain." 

At little more than finger's gesture from the fat one and a guard behind the youth responded faster than the eye could follow. A flash of steel, and Shamus doubled over. The blade was pulled from his gut, and he was unceremoniously tossed into the pit. 

"Now," the Captain's Voice called into the silence. "Who is your commanding officer?" 

"Here!" Percival shouted. 

A moment later he was free of the iron grip around his neck, the sores it caused still weeping, and standing in the place that Shamus had just occupied. His legs were tingling from the sudden ability to stand, and he winced in pain as he was forced back to his knees. One of the guards grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, forcing his eyes to meet those of the mute Captain. There was something strange about him. His clothing seemed too large for his thin frame, and the beard was set too low on his fragile cheeks. 

The Captain raised an eyebrow at the fat man, who again spoke. "For every answer you give us that is correct, we will release one man. If you are to answer wrong, we will kill a man. Do you understand? We will not tolerate any more trickery." 

Percival nodded. 

"Answer me!" 

"Yes." 

"Give us your name, and before you answer, we know that Zexens carry three names." 

"Percival Ryan Fraulein." 

"The place you reside." 

"Iksay Village." 

"Your age." 

"Thirty seven." 

The Captain grinned, approval written all over his dainty face. Kneeling in front of this man, Percival noticed something rather peculiar. The man's beard didn't follow the contorted expressions his skin was pulled into. As he smiled at his Voice, it remained in the same place. The fat man nodded, and began the next round of questions.

"The name of your wife." 

Percival was defiant. "What the hell does she have to do with this?" 

A guard smacked him in the small of his back, forcing him to gasp for air. The Captain's Voice spoke again, his tone now infuriated. "I will not repeat this question. I expect an answer or I will be forced to kill one of your men." 

"Christine Anna Lightfellow," the knight said after regaining his breath. 

"The name of your eldest child." 

"He has the same name as I do." 

"The name of your younger child." 

"Geoffrey Wyatt." 

The Captain nodded his authorization, and the fat man gave the next order. "Take this man to the _Desdemona_." 

Percival growled, "You said you'd release a man for each question. I expect six to be freed." 

"Ah," the fat man said with a twisted smirk. "So I did. Take six men to the surface and release them." 

Tormented and incensed cries spread through the prison as Percival was hauled to his feet. He turned to face his men, and they grew silent. One of them shouted, "For Zexen!" He returned the call as vigorously as he could just as something cracked on the back of his head, knocking him into pleasant unconsciousness. 

* * *

Chapter Two| Index | Chapter Four


	5. Chapter Four

**Missing in Action**

**Chapter Four **

* * *

Chris was getting tired of waiting and it had begun to show in her expression as she fought the urge to vent on the nearest breakable object, or person. The night at Brass Castle seemed longer than any she'd been forced to endure alone out in Iksay. She had tried to lie down on the couch, but even Borus's wine didn't relax her enough to find sleep. After a futile hour of staring at the ceiling of Salome's quarters, she gave up and took a seat near the window. 

The breeze chilled her as she pushed the paned panel open, but not in an uncomfortable way. So many things held on her mind as she looked out across the training yard. Would the Council approve of her return? The last time she had stood before them, she had defied them. They had offered her a great deal of money to retain the True Water Rune and to keep her position in the knights, but she had refused. Then, true to their unscrupulous nature, they resorted to drastic tactics in a desperate attempt to change her mind. Her title and status in the Federation were abruptly revoked and in a single night her family home and fortune were confiscated. Even so, nothing they had said or done would change her mind. Not even the words of Chairman Sohort—words that she would never forget nor forgive him for—only reinforced her decision. _"If you insist on denying your country of your service to marrying a penniless farmer, then we'll be glad to change you from a heroine of war to a whiskey house whore." _

Still, she hoped that now, just this once, they would be reasonable. She was sure that Louis would support her request, although his allies on the Council were waning. She also knew that Salome would stand by her and, regardless of what the Council decided, defer his rank to her. A twinge of guilt smacked her in the face, colder than any night breeze could ever be. Was this still the right thing to do? Percival had told her a hundred, no a thousand times, to never get involved in this war. He had begged her that should something happen to him to stay at home and raise their children, and find someone new to share the rest of her life with, should she desire that. They both knew the risks of battle, and denial of any sort could never change the outcome of that fact. But she couldn't change her mind now. She knew, somehow, that he was still alive, and she also knew, that no matter how selfish it was, that she had to do everything possible to bring him back. 

She glanced over to the bed where the boys slept. Soft rays of yellow sunlight had finally begun to peek over the horizon, painting highlights onto the children's faces. Despite this they didn't stir or wake; they were exhausted and with good cause. No matter what Ryan had said about not being tired the night before, he was still curled up next to his little brother, who was contently sucking his thumb. 

She smiled at them proudly. Although they were still very young, she knew they would grow to be very different and important men in their time. Ryan, with his dark hair and mischievous eyes, was the spirit and image of his father. He had already proven himself to be a talented rider, and he would become better with time. She knew he aspired to become a knight, and while she dreaded the day he would leave for his training, she knew he would make her proud. 

Geoffrey, on the other hand, would never be as physically powerful as his brother, and a childhood illness was to blame for that. It had been only eight months after he had been born when some sort of strangling sickness took him. By the grace of Sadie, Percy had been home with her when it had happened. To this day, she doubted she could have managed it alone. 

Although her husband's presence had been somewhat comforting to her during that ordeal, Poor Geoffrey's fever was so high that his face was drenched in sweat even as he shook with chills. He gasped and coughed constantly as if someone was choking him and a strange rash of white, leprous spots covered his throat. No healer in the village had an idea of what to do and several feared to even enter the room to try. One even muttered about curses and black magic being beyond any mortal's reach. Chris was sure they were only trying to hide their ignorance and fear of catching it themselves but she also knew that the nearest castle with a chance of a doctor being there was four hour's ride. Fortunately, a neighbor had volunteered to go to Budehuc and seek help, but Geoffrey would have to suffer in the meantime. Many times that horrible night Chris had been sure they would lose him and every time he choked on his breath, her eyes filled tears. 

Percival refused to give up hope and kept reassuring her and Ryan that it would be all right. Although he sounded convincing, she knew he was fearful as well. At one point that night she had put Ryan to bed, and then went to the kitchen to heat some honey to try and soothe Geoffrey's throat. 

Upon returning to the keeping room, Chris had thought the worst had happened, but quickly realized her assumption had been premature. What she had seen was something she could never forget nor interrupt. Percival was on his knees, holding the baby with one arm and wiping his tiny forehead with a cool rag, trying to bring some comfort to the sick child. She heard him whisper a desperate prayer to Sadie. Percy had always been quite devout, much more so than she. His faith had always been strong, even when things were dire, and at that moment, as her heart was sinking with every cough, he was begging for the life of his child, no matter what the cost. The words he strained to speak caused tears to slip down her face, and she would always remember them. _"Blessed Sadie, I beg you to spare this child's life. Let him know the world, not just the cradle. Let him live to be one of your servants in your fields. Let him find joy in celebrating your harvest. If a life your scythe should want tonight, pray take mine in his place." _

Chris stood in the doorway as he had repeated the simple prayer a few times, each time his voice slipping some more as he cradled the child. Before she had found the courage to disrupt him, a knock came on the door. Percival's prayers had been answered faster than anyone could have anticipated. The neighbor had returned with a nurse and some medicine. By the morning, the child's fever was gone, and after a week, he wasn't coughing at all. 

Still, to this day, Geoffrey had to be careful, especially when the air changed. Sometimes he would wheeze, but they had a remedy for it. Lavender, fennel and garlic ground to a pulp and then dried and inhaled eased the problem, but didn't cure the disease. He lived and for that she would be eternally grateful, but he would never become as strong as his brother. Though even now, as a small child, he always put more effort into his thoughts before he spoke, and in that way, he resembled his father. Level headed, contemplative, and far less impulsive than his older brother, Geoffrey often surprised others with flashes of wisdom well out of place in one so young. 

Chris shook the memory of that frightening time from her senses and turned to watch the sun climb over the hills in the distance. The wait was over. It was time to wake the children and ride to Vinay del Zexay. 

~~~~~~ 

Louis pulled himself along the streets of Vinay del Zexay, being careful to avoid the many loose cobblestones that he'd never noticed before his injury. He had become used to walking with his crutches and wooden leg over the past four and half years, but the noise it made still bothered him. The looks of curious people as he limped past sounding more like a lame horse than a man still haunted him. Whether half-concealed over their shoulder or done outright, the stares were impolite but expected. But regardless of his personal discomforts, he had something important to do, and only a lunch hour to do it in if he wanted to beat the messengers. 

He headed down towards the trading district, a short walk from the Council building. This was his regular route during his lunch break, but today it seemed longer. The same stores were there with the same vendors, and he offered a few customary greetings to those he knew, but they were emptier than usual. Passing the shops and piers, he paused for a moment to pull his scarf closer to his neck. It was April, but the chill was still in the air. As he neared his destination, he looked up to see the angered ocean. The winds wrestled with it, pushing white caps up onto the hulls of the docked boats and rocking them against the roped piers, as if taunting them to set sail and tempt the fates. 

A few more steps and a few more stares brought him to the place he sought—Redrum Wines and Dry Goods. It was one of the city's largest shops, owned for generations by the same affluent family, and infamous for its exceptional ability to turn a profit in even the hardest of times. He pushed the door open and was greeted in the usual way by the proprietor. 

"Hail Councilman Keeferson! It's good to see you sir!" The portly man with thinning blonde hair and a smile full of wrinkles bellowed. 

"The same to you Lord Robert," Louis answered as he grinned at how much of a stark contrast this jovial man was to his two intense sons. _Perhaps that came from their mother?_

Robert offered his hand, which Louis shook after adjusting his crutches. "What is it we can do for you today? Or are you just here to whisk the lovely Victoria Maserdon to lunch? She's in the back, helping a customer with some fabric, but I'll fetch her as soon as she's done." 

Straightening himself up as much as he possibly could, Louis nodded. "Yes, of course, but I fear I may need to steal her for the day, if that's all right with you, milord. I regret that I have some rather disturbing news for her." 

"Disturbing news?" 

Louis whispered gravely. "I fear her dear uncle has been lost to us." 

"I see," the old man said as he shook his head sadly. "Take her for the day then sir, and the rest of the week, if she needs it as well." 

"Thank you, milord." 

"No, thank you, Councilman. Your diligence in questioning the length and reasoning of this war brings me hope that I might see my errant son out live me." He paused as a pensive thought pulled at his face. "I wish they were still allowing us to write to our children involved in this, but I understand the need for caution, given that we've found traitors among our ranks." 

"I know it is difficult for the families of our soldiers, but I'm glad that you understand why we had to stop it," Louis said as met the man's eyes. "I can't promise anything, but next time I send word to Brass, I'll be sure to include your regards to Lord Borus." 

"I appreciate that, more than I can express." 

The two men stood in silence for less than a moment, when Torrie and her customer reappeared in the store. As soon as she saw Louis, her face flushed, but still he gave her a smile. Lord Robert flashed a knowing grin between them, and then went to relive her of her sale. 

~~~~~~ 

Torrie patted her cheeks with Louis's handkerchief as she sank deeper into the small sofa that occupied most of her living room. "Has anyone told Chris and the children yet?" 

"Salome went himself," the Councilman answered as he gripped her hand. "I'm sorry." 

She shook her head at him, her long brown curls accentuating the motion. "You've said that many times, but there's nothing to apologize for. You did nothing wrong, and I'm glad it was you that told me and not some impersonal messenger." 

Louis gave a faint smile as he draped his arm across her shoulders. "I wish you didn't have to hear it at all." 

"Yes, but still." 

He didn't bother to respond to that sentiment. She had summed it up quite well. This was something denial wasn't going to fix. Drawing her closer, he felt her head touch his shoulder. It wasn't much comfort for either of them, but it was something. 

A few moments later, she straightened up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Oh! I best fix lunch or I'll make us both late." 

His face warmed with her touch, and he shook his head. "Don't bother yourself. Lord Robert said you could take the day, and tomorrow, if you'd like." 

"That's quite kind of him, but I'm sure that the Council would not be so forgiving of your absence at this afternoon's session." 

"No, they would not, would they?" Louis said, as his green eyes grew dark. "I will have to leave you." 

"Then let me make you some lunch, since it's my turn, all right?" 

He gave a weak smile as she rose to her feet, knowing he could not argue with her. "All right." 

Watching her walk away into the adjoining kitchen, Louis couldn't help but shake his head in amazement at how much that woman had changed him in the past few months. He actually cared that his hair was combed and his clothes matched! He walked taller even as he limped down the streets. He had something to look forward to after the Council meetings. He had _someone_ to live for, and he never thought that would happen, especially after his injury. 

It had all happened so suddenly. There he had been, standing in the Redrum's store, just about to make a purchase of some special wine, for a not-so-special occasion, when she smiled at him. She had remembered his name…she had remembered him…but he couldn't place her. She had told him who she was, and then it came back. She was the little girl he had danced with at a wedding of two very good friends so many years ago! How she had grown! He had offered to take her to lunch in an attempt to make up for being so rude and forgetting such a lovely face. She had accepted the offer, and it had gone from there. 

Torrie constantly amazed him with her independence. Even though she could have lived well with Lord Robert and his family, she had chosen to find her own home and pay for it from her own earnings. It was a small well-made place, simple, elegant, and warm even in the coldest of winter nights. It was, in truth, very much like Torrie herself. Louis knew he had found someone very unique in her, one willing to see him and not just his missing leg. With her strong-willed nature she would never try to serve him, or feel sorry for him. More and more they had begun to function as a team, a pair. They'd work together to cook, or take turns at it. When walking on the streets, she let him use her for support, even as people stared at them. She made him feel human again, and most importantly, she never made him feel like a burden. 

~~~~~~ 

Percival wasn't sure exactly where he was, but he was convinced by the sound of waves and the constant rocking motion that he was on a boat. The men who had dragged him from that underground hell didn't offer much information when he had finally awakened, and neither did his current guards. 

His new quarters were quite an improvement over the pit. It was a typical brig; walls of bars, a patch of straw for a bed, no windows, no chains, and the smell of the tar used to seal the floors barely hid less pleasant ones. For company, he had two men that held an unwanted vigil on the other side of the iron bars. There was nothing remarkable about neither their clothes nor their voices, but one was considerably taller than the other. They blathered on constantly, never making much sense and arguing about nothing like an old married couple. He had tried to talk to them, but each time, they seemed to become nervous and would continue their idiotic conversation with their backs to him. Annoyed and exhausted, Percival took a seat on the floor and continued to listen to what they were saying in the hopes of gaining some information about his fate. 

"It's been twelve hours since we brought him here," the tall man said. 

"So?" 

"At least he gets to sleep." 

"He's a prisoner. We'd rather have him sleeping, methinks." 

"Why? There's nothing special about him. With all he's been through he wouldn't put up much of a fight. I heard they barely fed them down in that place. He's probably weak as a kitten." 

"I'll wager you he's not. I heard these Zexen fellows starve themselves when they train." 

"Oh just how the hell would you know that?" 

"Me sister told me so." 

"And she knows how?" 

"Says she spent a few nights with one 'em." 

"So you're telling me that pretty gal isn't as chaste as you make her out to be?" 

"I'll have your---" 

Just as the conversation was about to devolve from stupid to down right inane, and the spreading grin on Percival's face about to be noticed, heavy footfalls came on the stairs leading down into the brig. The two men pulled themselves to their full heights and prepared to offer some sort of salute. 

The fat blonde man from the pit was the visitor, flanked by two other men. All three of them wore a dark blue uniform with a golden bull's eye-like seal on the breast. The two inept guards were quickly dismissed. A moment later the fat man realized they had the keys to the cell and sent one of his officers to retrieve them. 

Percival smirked at him as he rubbed the sores on his neck left by the collar from the pit. "Good help is hard to find?" 

"Shut up!" The fat man snarled. "And get to your feet!" 

The knight stood up just as the officer returned with the keys. "I've got them, sir." 

"Very well, Celton. Open the cell." He glared at Percival, "Keep your hands up where they can be seen at all times." 

Again Percival did as he was told, and the door was opened. The fat man entered first, and then motioned for the second officer to step forward. Celton remained outside holding a drawn blade, just in case. 

"Our Captain has requested your presence at lunch," the fat man said formally. "He requests that you clean yourself up and look presentable. So we have brought you some fresh clothing and a shaving blade." 

"That's rather civil of your Captain, given where I've spent my last week," the Zexen said dryly. "What will happen if I refuse?" 

A grin smeared the fat man's round face, "We'll kill five of your men." 

"Well then," Percival replied as he took the bundle of clothes from the officer. "I guess I'll be needing some water to wash and shave with, wouldn't you say?" 

~~~~~~ 

Torrie placed a cup of tea and a pot in front of her visitor and sighed. Although she was glad to see Chris and the children, their arrival only confirmed the worst for her. Even the discussion they had engaged in before Louis and Salome left for the afternoon session didn't convince her otherwise. To her, it felt like false hopes, but at the moment she chose to carefully indulge them, and to enjoy the company. In a quiet voice she offered her thoughts on the entire situation. "I pray Louis will be successful. The Council has been harsher than usual lately against those who aren't screaming for blood." 

Chris smiled as she reached for the cup. "They always had their own agenda, and never have listened to anyone who really knows what is going on, but I believe in Louis. He's never let me down, and Salome will support him, even if some of the others on the Council won't." 

"I can't believe they refused to see you," the brunette said as she lowered herself onto the small pastel sofa. 

"You know the law," Chris said with a shrug. "Anyone without a title cannot speak before the Council, nor vote, nor have anything to do with politics." 

"That law makes no sense, especially since it is only enforced half of time. If a common woman marries a titled man, she assumes his rank, but it doesn't work in reverse." 

Chris took a sip of the tea, and glanced over her shoulder at a noise from the bedroom where the children were playing. "A man's law written by a Council of men. Such is life." 

"I'm sure they're fine," Torrie said giving a nod in the direction of the sound before turning back to her aunt. "I'd expect more of a fight on something like that from you." 

"I know which battles are worth fighting. Besides, some day they'll realize they need women." 

"How's that?" 

"Without us, they wouldn't have sons to carry on their precious names." 

The young woman gave an embarrassed grin. "I suppose you're right." 

"Torrie," she said, her tone growing serious as she put the teacup back on the small table. "Do you think I'm being selfish?" 

"In regards to what?" 

"Leaving the children, heading off on this quest." 

"Perhaps, but I can't blame you for it. What else would you do?" 

"I could just return to Iksay," Chris said, reaching for her cup again. 

"And never know what really happened? You told Louis you believe he's still alive and Salome said that Borus confirmed that." 

"Yes, but…" 

"But what? You don't strike me as the type of woman to just accept something like this or join the other wives who have just had their husbands declared legally dead." 

"I don't understand why someone would even consider such an action." 

"Maybe to just have closure." 

"I suppose, but it still turns my stomach," Chris said as she placed her cup on the small table in front of the sofa. 

"Mine too." 

Reaching for the other woman's hand, Chris finally voiced the guilt she had been harboring since Brass Castle. "You're sure this isn't too much? Taking care of my children for me?" 

"I won't lie, it won't be easy. I finally earned my independence, and now I'll have to ask Lord Robert for time off—" 

"I'll talk to him if you want," the former knight interrupted. 

Torrie shook her head quite emphatically. "No, I can handle it. I'm tired of having things just given to me. It's been that way since I left Iksay all those years ago." 

"It's admirable that you want to strike out on your own, but I'm not going to let you starve. I'm going to leave you money, and you're going to take it." 

Victoria sipped the last of her tea, but didn't offer an answer. A few moments of silence past and then Chris tried a lighter subject. "So, it would seem that my former squire has found a new friend to eat lunch with, at least." 

"Yes," she said as a streak of color tickled her cheeks. "But he's not just a lunch date." 

"I know, and there's no need to be embarrassed. He's a good man and he's honest. That's something rare these days—especially in Council members." 

"Yes, he is," Torrie said softly, the blush still holding on her face. 

The children interrupted the conversation before it caused any more distress for the young woman. Geoffrey came running into the room, screaming at the top of his lungs as his older brother chased him. Leaping into his mother's arm, he cried, "Ryan's gonna eat me!" 

Ryan made his grand entrance wearing a piece of green cloth that was draped over his small body. He hissed and growled, trying to imitate a dragon or other sort of mystical creature. 

When his performance yielded nothing from the audience, he pulled the cloth off and said, "Mother! There's a whole closet full of things! Things to play with!" 

Chris glared at him. "Isn't it rude to go pawing through other people's property?" 

"I'm sure no harm was done," Torrie supplied as Geoffrey wedged himself between her and his mother. 

"He knows better, and picking on his little brother is wrong," she chided. 

"I'm sorry," the dark haired boy muttered as he hung his head in shame. 

As he stood in front of her, Chris noticed a thin chain hanging around his neck. It wasn't something she recognized, so she reached for it. Ryan watched as her fingers followed the chain to the medallion it supported under his shirt. Set in a thick gold pendant was an image of Sadie with her hands raised to the heavens. It was exquisite, and certainly not something she could afford. Fearing that it was taken out of the closet with the cloth, she asked sternly, "Ryan, where did you get this?" 

He smiled at his mother, clearly proud to wear the charm. "Uncle Borus gave me that this morning. He said it's supposed to be good luck." 

Chris closed her eyes for a moment in thought, considering a few choice words to say to her friend about endowing a child with such a valuable. Although she was bothered by Borus' unnecessary generosity, Ryan seemed to be waiting for an approval of the token, so she gave it. "It's beautiful. Take good care of it." 

"I will, Mother. I promise," Ryan said with conviction as he tucked it reverently back beneath his shirt. 

~~~~~~ 

The afternoon's session had already dragged on for an hour, but Salome still hadn't been received. Louis had promised he was on the agenda, but also warned that some of his opponents would do their best to stall the meeting before his issues could be heard. Since the Captain had no business in there while matters such as taxation were being discussed, he was forced to sit outside. 

In that hour, many things entered his mind begging for consideration, and he did his best to dismiss them. One refused to leave him alone, though, and that was the information Borus had given him about the weapons. Why would someone take the time to create such an elaborate display with their enemies' arms? Was there significance to the bull's eye? 

The clanking of armor caused Salome to turn his head. Standing next to the door, a marshal had appeared and offered a sharp salute. "They are ready for you, sir." 

The Captain returned the greeting, and thanked the man as he went into the room. 

The Council Chamber was how Salome had remembered it—ornate yet cold. At the center was a massive, wooden, round table with seven elaborate chairs set around it. A large fireplace consumed most of the back wall with the crest of Zexen suspended above it. The whole room stunk of polish, but no amount of cleaning could remove the stains of corruption that marred the men within. 

Chairman Sohort pointed to a chair that had been added. "Thank you for waiting, Captain." 

Salome took a seat as the testy Sohort continued speaking, his tone irritated. "Make it fast, Councilman Keeferson. You bore us with your diatribes daily." 

Louis didn't gratify the man with a response, and instead just began the task that Chris had given him to do. "As I'm sure you're aware, we have lost many men in the effort to retake Dubios. We believe they have been taken prisoner by the enemy." 

"Or killed," added Justin Plasser, one of the more reasonable men in the room. 

"Such is the price of war," said Arthur Flynnic, another one of Sohort's comrades. 

"True," Louis conceded. "But Lady Chris and Lord Salome disagree." 

"Chris Lightfellow, or whatever the hell her name is these days is not a woman of title, nor one who deserves the time of this Council," Zelowick added sharply. 

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Fraulein. Her name is Fraulein. She is married to one of our top Lieutenants—a man who has spent his entire life serving this country and whom you all have denied a title to over and over again." 

"Ah," Sohort grinned. "Now I see. Percival Fraulein is one of the missing. Your loyalty to your former Captain and your current distraction is clouding your judgments again, Keeferson." 

"No," Louis said, holding back the furor in his voice over the insults. "But I admit that Lady Chris has already approached both myself and Lord Salome about returning to the Army." 

The thin blonde man with frigid eyes who was seated next to Louis asked skeptically, "She wants to come back to chase down a corpse?" 

"She wants to come back to win the war for the glory of Zexen," Salome said, glaring at the obnoxious cynic named Mathias Caulder. 

"Captain," Sohort said, his eyes trying to stare down the other. "I don't believe I recognized you to speak. But since you have offered your opinion already, tell me, do you believe any of our men are still alive?" 

Salome didn't flinch at the Chairman's pathetic attempt at intimidation. "After speaking with Lord Borus, yes, I do." 

"What bit of wisdom did he provide you?" Caulder inquired in his grating nasal voice. 

The Captain of the knights answered the question directly, while keeping a sharp eye on the rest of the men in the room. "No spoils nor bodies were found at the site of the attack. Plus, the weapons of our men were arranged in a pattern that all but calls for us to find them. It deserves some investigation." 

"So you think the enemy is taunting you?" Plasser asked. 

"Precisely." 

"You don't think it's a trap?" 

"I can't tell without looking into the matter fully. We need to know who left it and what they have to do with Tinto." 

Keith Drever, one of the few men in the building that Louis truly respected, finally spoke. "If this is true, and it's also true that Tinto isn't fighting this war, it definitely calls for us to find some answers. Perhaps we will be able to exploit a weakness in these apparent mercenaries." 

"We shouldn't waste our men on such a pointless mission," said Zelowick. "Our friend Keeferson tells us our numbers are dwindling." 

Keith turned to Louis. "If La—Chris wants to return to our service, then we should appoint her ambassador and charge her to investigate it. She had a long friendship with the Pendragon daughter, didn't she?" 

"Lilly Pendragon hasn't been seen or heard from in a few years," Caulder added flippantly. "We don't even know if she's still alive." 

"I'm surprised you haven't heard the rumors," Louis said, a tinge of sarcasm floating on his words. 

"I've heard many rumors, but I don't know to which one you are referring." 

"May I explain it to your obviously ill-informed colleagues, Councilman Keeferson?" Salome asked in a most formal voice. 

Louis gave a nod and waved for his friend to continue. 

"You've been hiding something from us, Louis?" Flynnic demanded, his accusation sending a rush of whispers around the table. 

"No, he was not," Salome said firmly. "I asked him to keep the information to himself because at the time we could not confirm or deny any of the facts. Now, however, I believe that it is pertinent to our cause, so I will explain." 

"Go ahead, Captain," Sohort said, a contemplative frown dragging across his face. 

Salome took a breath and relayed the story in a most succinct manner. "A few weeks ago, a group of merchants traveling through the Grasslands saw Lilly in Karaya village. Strangely, she was alone, with not even so much as a bodyguard. By the time we sent men there to find her and question her, she was gone and the Karayans said they weren't getting involved." 

"They were harboring her and they don't want to be involved?" Zelowick scoffed. "That doesn't make sense." 

"It makes perfect sense that they don't want to burden themselves with our problems," Salome said decisively. "Besides, I believe the information to be correct, although it raises a very important question." 

"Which would be?" 

"Why would the daughter of our enemy's president be wandering across the Grasslands without any protection, especially when it's so close to Zexen?" 

"Those savages have tricked us before," Flynnic said, his voice full of scorn. "Perhaps they took it upon themselves to guard her. That would make sense if she was trying to form an alliance with the Six Clans." 

Salome shook his head. "I doubt it. The Grasslanders have vowed time and time again to stay out of this 'border clash.' Lilly knows they are neutral in the matter as well as we do. Still, I suggest we find and question her before making any judgments." He looked back to Flynnic with a glare of resentment for the other's intolerance. "As you said, we cannot be sure of her motives, but either way, it couldn't hurt—providing she'll talk to us." 

"Lilly will speak to Chris, won't she?" Drever asked. 

"As you mentioned, they were close friends at one point," Louis replied. 

"I don't care if she speaks to her or not," Caulder snorted. "All we need is to capture her and Gustav and his army will leave us alone for a change." 

"If we are indeed still fighting Tinto in a 'border clash' and not some rebels in a uprising," Louis said. 

"True, but either way we gain valuable information at little expense," Plasser agreed. "Therefore we should assign Chris to seek Lilly out her while our Captain and the rest of our men to take back Dubios. The port city is essential to our trade." 

"Agreed," Salome said with a nod. "But Chris can't go alone. No one should go alone." 

"Then select an appropriate escort for her," Sohort said. "One man, that's all we're authorizing, Captain. She's not to take over for you, nor is she to command any unit." 

"It will be her choice," Salome retorted. "I'm not sending her with someone she doesn't trust." 

"So long as it doesn't affect your repeat engagement in Dubios. We can't afford another embarrassment like that, Captain. Keep the battles turning in our favor and you'll keep your rank, and your head." 

~~~~~~ 

When the meeting finally ended, Salome followed Louis into his office and closed the door. Although it was well appointed, the room just didn't seem to fit the young man that occupied it most of the time, mostly because it was in such a disarray. There was a large desk covered in papers with a chair behind it, and small sofa across from it for guests. Against the western wall stood a bookcase, filled with volumes of law books and other such mundane reading that all appeared to have gathered a nice collection of dust. The small window against the back of the room that let some light and air into the room was the only thing that didn't really need a washing. 

"I apologize for the mess," Louis said as he pulled himself around his desk to his chair. "Unlike some of my fellow Councilors, I don't feel that paying someone to clean up after me counts as a justifiable expense. Unfortunately, I've been so busy the past few weeks I haven't kept up with it." 

Salome nodded as he looked around the filthy office. "That went better than I had expected." 

"Yes, although I can't help but think I failed Lady Chris." 

The Captain took a seat on the sofa facing Louis after moving some papers that were occupying it. "I don't think we failed her in the least. It's a reasonable compromise, and it will keep her off the front lines." 

"True," the younger man said as he released the straps on his wooden leg and leaned it against the side of the desk. "But then I wonder why those who would normally oppose any such move were suddenly supporting our proposition." 

"Perhaps they saw merit in it?" 

"They usually only look for things that will benefit themselves." 

Salome considered a moment. "Perhaps they believe that by allowing Chris to come back, our troops will be more inspired. Lately, the number of losses has taken a toll on morale." 

The Councilman shook his head. "I'd hate to think we're using her like that." 

"Louis, she wanted this and she knows damn well that the Council will use her—they will use any knight for that matter—in any way they see fit." 

"I know. I know she'll just say it's her duty to Zexen or something like that, but I still feel horrible about it." 

The knight gave a slight nod of understanding. "You know, it's better this way than to have her riding in front of an army and putting herself in mortal danger." 

"You have a point, my friend." 

Salome pinched the bridge of his nose in pensive thought as a moment of silence held between the two men. "I know she wants to be what she once was, but those children deserve to have at least one parent." 

Louis rested his chin on a hand and looked the other man in the eye. "I remember when Percival returned after the treaty broke and you tried to send him away, but he wouldn't have it. What convinced you to take him?" 

The older man looked out towards the window. "He told me if I didn't allow him to fight with us, Chris would return in his place and he didn't want her near a battlefield ever again." 

"That's our Silver Maiden," Louis said with a fond smile that vanished a second later. "Are we dishonoring his wishes then?" 

Salome closed his eyes for a second in thought, and then spoke, his voice holding its usual gentle tenor. "We all have a love for Chris. She is an extraordinary woman, and quite capable of making her own decisions. Still, we must look out for her, because Goddess knows, sometimes her judgment is too brazen. If we didn't help her, she'd just do whatever the hell she would have to in order to accomplish her goal." He glanced at down at the floor, "When I trained under her father, I took an oath that I would protect her, and I know you promised the same to her." 

"Yes I did," Louis said as he picked up a rolled paper on the desk and held it out to the other. "I took the liberty of drafting this, just in case something happens to her." 

"What is it?" Salome asked, reaching for the scroll. 

The Councilor rubbed his forehead in anguish. "A document that guarantees the children will be placed in my custody should something unexpected happen to Lady Chris. I'd hate see their fate determined by a Council who clearly despises their parents." 

Salome frowned as he placed the parchment back on the desk. "What about Torrie? She's family to them." 

"Torrie may be able to watch them for month or so, but I don't know how she'll support them in the long run." He shook his head in frustration. "My esteemed colleagues would probably do whatever they could to snatch them out from under her just out of spite and send them to live in an abbey or some other remote place where they'd be forgotten." 

"Have you discussed this with Chris yet?" 

"No, but I will tonight before she leaves. She'll have to sign it anyway. I'm sure Torrie won't have a problem with it. She knows how little this Council cares for anyone that does not turn them a profit." 

"I'm proud of you Louis. You're my strongest ally in this city, and unlike some of your comrades, you always do the right thing, even if it is not lucrative." 

"Thank you, milord. That is high praise indeed. Although I only wish I could do more." 

"Spoken like a true knight." He said with a grin as he rose to his feet. "Shall we return to Torrie's then, and tell Chris the news?" 

Louis nodded and reached for the scroll, inadvertently knocking a stack of papers to the floor. 

Salome bent down to retrieve them, and one in particular caught his eye. It was written in too clean a hand to have been penned by a man, and the paper smelled of roses. A quick glance at the closing and signature caused a knowing smile to break on the tired face of the reserved knight. Placing it on the top of the stack, he said, "I was going to ask why you were at Torrie's earlier, but I think I understand now." 

Louis gave a nervous cough, a dash of pink rushing across his face as he grabbed the note and tucked it into his jacket pocket while desperately trying change the subject. "Yes, well…who do you think Chris is going to choose as an escort?"

* * *

Chapter Three| Index | Chapter Five


	6. Chapter Five

_Author's Notes: Special thanks to Straya for letting me borrow her OCs Ardeth and Jael for a cameo! Also, thanks to Edtel aka Bonnie E for her beta reading services!_

* * *

**Missing in Action **

**Chapter Five**

Percival felt like a human being for the first time since his capture. The clothes the men had brought him were a good fit, and a welcome change after the rags he'd been living in since being stripped of his armor. They were simple; a green shirt, black pants and leather boots that came to just below his knees. Still, while the fresh trappings were a valued gift, he was more thankful for being allowed to wash and shave.

Although the guards had said the meal he was to share with the Captain was lunch, far too much time had passed since they had delivered the water and then disappeared. After darkness had overtaken the small amount of light that permeated his cell, and the air noticeably chilled, he resigned himself to another night of hunger. Sitting cross-legged on the small bed of straw, he decided upon offering an evening prayer to Sadie.

His devotions were rudely interrupted by the same two officers who had accompanied the fat man earlier. One shouted to him in the near-darkness, "The Captain is ready for you!"

He finished the prayer by offering humble thanks for his blessings and rose to his feet. The men fumbled with the mass of keys until they finally located the correct one for the cell. The taller of the two stepped inside and gave an order: "Put your hands behind your back."

Percival did as he was asked, as there was no point in resisting. A second later he felt the rough texture of rope encircle his wrists, and then the man turned him around. "Start walking towards the stairs. Don't try anything stupid. We're both armed."

The knight gave a nod as the two men flanked him, their hands firmly gripping the hilts of their swords. Up the stairs they went, and Percival could tell that his intuition was correct. He was on a boat—a massive one. Looking around the deck, even in the darkness, he saw that she had three masts full of sails, a wide hull, and a small army of men running ragged to keep her moving towards the star-filled horizon.

The men led him to the stern of the ship, and then up a staircase which brought them into the Captain's dining room. It was lush, with a large wooden table and well-carved chairs set elegantly atop an exotic-looking rug. Lamps hung about the room provided a fair amount of light, and fresh-smelling flowers brought fragrance that did a good job of hiding the stench of tar.

Seated at the table was the fat man who said in a sly voice, "I don't believe our guest will misbehave. Cut his ties."

Wordlessly, one of the guards sliced through the rope binding Percival's hands and then pushed him down into a chair by his shoulders.

"Keep your hands on the table," the fat man ordered.

"I think we can speak civilly to our guest, Troian," a woman who appeared in the doorway reprimanded.

Troian was apparently caught off guard by her, jumped to his feet and gave formal introductions. "Rise in the presence of our Captain, Kylan Locusti."

The guards yanked Percival back up, as he stared at the black haired woman and realized she had been the man with the awkward beard in the Pit.

"You seem surprised," the woman said to her prisoner as she took a seat and waved him back into his chair. "I expected less of a reaction from a man who married Zexen's Silver Maiden."

"Chris never hid the fact that she was a woman," Percival retorted. "We accepted her for what she was—and followed her regardless."

Kylan held his gaze. "A romantic notion, but not necessarily a sound business practice—not in my case at least. I keep my father's image and name so that his old enemies believe he is alive. Keeping his legend breathing has saved me many hassles."

A knock came on the door before Percival could respond, and the food was delivered. His stomach growled audibly at the sight. It wasn't tasteless gruel, but fresh cooked fish, seasoned vegetables, and a loaf of hot bread. As the servants placed the meal in front of them he had to fight his instinct to just grab the food with his hands and eat.

The woman smirked at the Zexen. "Our meal appears to have arrived." She turned to the guards and Troian with a raised eyebrow and they followed the servants out, closing the door behind them.

Kylan served the food, and as she placed a plate in front of Percival she said, "I suppose you're wondering why you're here."

"It had crossed my mind," the knight said as he took a bite of the fish—it was delicious.

She smiled at him as she finished chewing a piece of bread. "Of course, Andrew."

"You know my name is Percival," he said, glancing over the top of his glass.

"Correction. It was. On this ship, you will be called Andrew."

"I don't understand," the knight countered, as he cut another piece of fish. "What purpose does forcing me to answer to a foreign name serve?"

"It serves my purposes."

"Do you always give responses that make such little sense?"

Kylan glared at him. "They make sense to me. It's my ship. You're a guest—whether you want to be here or not—and I will call you whatever I wish."

Percival could see this was going nowhere and tried to cut to the heart of the matter. "Are you going to tell me why I'm on this boat or not?"

"Suffice it to say that I'm fulfilling a contract," she replied.

"A contract?"

"Yes. My client paid me a rather handsome sum to capture and keep you."

The knight fought the urge to laugh as he put his fork down. "Me? You must be mistaken. No one in Zexen would ransom me. I'm not valued by any of them. I'm not even worthy of one of their precious titles."

"Who said they wanted to ransom you?"

"Why else go through all of this?"

"That's not for me to say."

"Surely your client told you."

"No. I care little for details in such matters."

Resigned to the fact that he would not get any further on the subject, Percival asked the question that had been consuming him. "What will happen to my men?"

Kylan finished chewing a bit of vegetable and said, "Ah, such _noblesse oblige_."

"Stop mocking me and answer my question."

"I don't think you're in the position to be making demands, Andrew."

"They are good men and deserve better treatment than to be left in that hell to rot."

She gave him a wink as she took another bite of fish. "Ah, but they aren't there any more."

"Where are they?"

"That depends on how loyal they are to Zexen," she replied with a smirk.

Percival's patience had vanished. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, my dearest Andrew, that your pathetic 'good men' will be given an option. If they make the right decision, they'll keep their lives."

"You'd execute them for refusing whatever sick desires you wish for them to fulfill?"

"In a word: yes. I've even created a device that ensures a swift death. No more hanging or beheading by axe. The first way is too boring and the second too messy."

He pushed what was left of his meal aside. "Then use this thing you are so proud of and kill me now. I want nothing more to do with your group."

"Ah, no," Kylan said as she put his plate back in front of him. "That would be too easy. Besides, my contract guarantees your well-being. Your men were just collateral damage."

He reached over the table and grabbed her around the throat. All of his manners, training, and restraint left him as instinct took over. His voice became animalistic as he thought of his men, chained like dogs and treated worse than rats. "I'll kill you right now if you don't release them!"

Kylan was amazingly calm, given that his hand nearly encircled her neck. "Ah, but you won't, Andrew. My men have orders to sack Iksay should anything happen to me while you are on this ship. It wouldn't even take my entire fleet to crush both Budehuc and your village! If the winds are right, that run-down castle is less than five days sail from our current spot on the chart. Once we land, it would be less than a day's ride to Iksay. I bet your sons would be so happy to see you—if even for a moment before I slit their throats."

Percival released his grip in defeat and sat back down in his chair. The woman sneered at him, the creases in the corners of her mouth telling that she knew all of his weaknesses and how to exploit them. And for that, he hated her.

Rubbing her neck, she jumped up, opened the door to the cabin and called in two guards. "Take Andrew to the hole. Leave him there for three days. No food, no water. He's got quite a temper on him, and I won't have that on my ship."

The guards bowed their heads to the Captain and hauled Percival to his feet. One of them snarled, "Come now. Don't make us be rough on you!"

Reluctantly, the knight allowed the guards to lead him to a grate on the bow. The smaller of the two yanked it open and said, "Get in or we'll put you in!"

Percival sat down and dropped into the hole, feet first. It was too short to stand in, and not wide enough to sit. Resigned to lean in a most uncomfortable position, he sighed, and again begged Sadie for a swift and confirmed death.

* * *

Chris finished packing her things in the darkness of Torrie's living room, with just a small lamp for light. She had asked Salome to leave early, not because of time, but so that her children would not be awake to see her go. It was hard enough to say good-bye the night before, and if she had to do it again, she might not be able to. Before she tucked them into Torrie's guest bed, she gave them both instructions to be on their best behavior, to eat their greens, and to always remember that no matter what, both she and their father loved them.

As she was tying up her pack, she heard shuffling in the hallway behind her. Turning around, she saw the dark eyes of her elder son peering around the corner. Realizing she had noticed him, he walked into the room, and sat on the small sofa.

"Ryan," she whispered. "What are you doing up so early?"

He shrugged and looked at the floor, "I just wanted to see you off."

Chris set the pack on the floor and sat next to her son. Motherly instinct told her that something was bothering him—the toes on his bare feet were curled in anxiety. Pulling him onto her lap, she saw his cheeks were damp, and so she asked, "What's wrong?"

"I'm scared, Mother. I know I shouldn't be, but I am."

She held him in her arms as if he were an infant again and brushed his hair out of his face. "It's all right, Ryan. There's nothing to be afraid of—everything will work out, you'll see."

He nodded ever so slightly and rested his head on her shoulder. "I heard you talking to Louis. I know what's going to happen to us if you—"

"Nothing is going to happen," she interrupted him, and then kissed his cheek. Guilt suddenly filled her, so she felt compelled to ask, "Do you want me to stay, Ryan? We could just go home."

He considered a moment, and then shook his head emphatically. "No. I want you to go get Father. I want us all to go home together."

Cuddling him closer, she gave him a kiss on the forehead. "We will."

He sat up and faced her, finding some hope within her words and touch. "I know we will. Father used to always tell me that nothing is gained without a risk. I know you're going to be in danger, but I will pray for you. Then you'll be sure to be safe."

Chris pulled him into a tight embrace, his innocent rationale touching her heart. Oh, how she hated to leave him—to leave them both—but it was for best. Soon she would return with Percival and the four of them would go back to Iksay and never part again. She kissed his cheek again, and then whispered, "Promise me you'll look after Geoffrey while I'm away."

"Of course, Mother." He pulled back to look her in the eye, and then spoke in a voice that mustered all his strength. "And…and if something does happen and we have to go with Louis, I understand. And when Geoff is old enough, I'll make sure he does, too."

"All right," she said as she fought the strain in her own throat. With another kiss, she gave him a compliment he was sure to hold in the highest regard. "Your father would be proud of you, Ryan."

* * *

Chris led her horse to the city gate, impatient for this quest to end, even thought it had yet to start. She wasn't surprised to see that Salome was already there, waiting for her, and performing a ritual she was all too familiar with—the farewell before dawn. Knowing it would be rude to approach her friend and his wife as they offered each other words and kisses of promise, she busied herself with checking her saddle packs and girth.

A few moments later, she heard her name called and looked up at Salome and Ardeth, pretending to notice them for the first time. Leading her horse over, she offered her hand in greeting to the other woman as Salome stepped away to give orders to the knights that made up his escort.

"It's good to see you again, although I wish the circumstances were different," the brunette said. "You have my sympathy and my prayers."

"Thank you," Chris replied, and then paused to find a more intelligent answer, which did not materialize. "But I'm confident that things will work out in the end."

"I pray that they do," Ardeth said before glancing at her husband.

Chris followed the woman's eyes as a glimmer of the last farewell she said to Percival tickled her memory. Upon leaving, he would always say to her, "_Farewell my love, but not good-bye." _How she wished to hear those words now, but she knew she wouldn't. So, in a gentle voice, she just commiserated with the other. "Yes. I know what it's like to have him gone all the time. Home for less than a week, and then back he goes until Goddess knows when."

Ardeth nodded, and adjusted the weight on her braced right foot. "Chris, I don't mean to doubt you, but why are you going to put yourself through this?"

"I intend to take care of this problem because it's tearing the people in our country apart. Families are being destroyed every day just because the Council is greedy and unable to negotiate a peace we all deserve."

"That's why I respect you, Chris. You may have a personal stake in this journey, but you are still thinking of everyone else." She took the former knight into a friendly embrace. "But please, be careful."

"I will." She said as she returned the hug and then smiled at the woman. "Your husband never let me act recklessly in the past, and I'm sure he won't now."

Ardeth gave a tired grin to Chris and then whispered, "You're right, but please keep an eye on him as well. I need him back more than ever, now."

"Milady!" Salome called, interrupting the conversation, just as Chris's curiosity had been piqued. "We'd best get on our way."

She gave a quick nod to Ardeth and then mounted her horse. Turning to offer a wave from the saddle, she saw the Captain receiving some sort of token from his wife. Glancing away again, she knew a few more hushed vows and one last kiss would be exchanged before they departed for Brass Castle. _It's always the last one that hurts the most, isn't it, Percy?_

* * *

The road through the Zexen Forest was one rather frequently traveled, and although threats were minimal, Chris was thankful for the escort. The two knights rode five or so horse-lengths ahead of Salome and herself, and although she couldn't hear them talking, it seemed to be a very lively conversation. The ride was leisurely; there was no need to rush, and so the pace was set at a walk.

Still, despite the safe surroundings, pleasant weather and easy ride, her friend hadn't said a word since they had left the capital a few hours ago. She could tell by his furrowed brow and downcast eyes that something was troubling him. Turning to the Captain riding on her right, she offered a sincere observation and question. "You seem awfully quiet today, my friend. Is something on your mind?"

He gave her a slight nod, which neither answered her question nor confirmed her statement, but she didn't push him. Salome had always been a quiet, reserved man, and when he spoke, others listened. Still, for all his shared wisdom and benevolence, many demons tormented him, and Chris was one of the few people he would confide in.

After taking a measured look ahead to make sure their escorts were out of earshot, he said to her: "I told you once we all fight for our own reasons. For some it is their family, and for others it is their love of Zexen. I would like to believe that by defending our country, I am preserving the lives of my wife and son. But lately, I don't feel that I can justify that. Call me selfish, Chris, but I was secretly hoping the Council would let me resign."

"That's certainly not selfish. Many people are sick of the war—and it wouldn't surprise me at all to know those closest to the frontlines are hurting the worst." She sighed as she gave the horse a little more rein. "I think the only people who aren't tired of this war are the Council."

"And those profiting from it, of course."

"Of course. It only adds to the feeling of being used as a pawn someone else's crazy game."

"But that's not the only thing troubling me, Chris." He drew a long breath before continuing, as the lines on his face pulled into a frustrated grimace of concern. "Ardeth told me last night that we are expecting another child. I want to be happy, but I wonder what will happen to me. Will I even be there when it's time? Will this poor child just wind up resenting me like Jael does for never being around?"

Chris wanted to offer congratulations, but her stomach twisted with Salome's rationalization. Although he'd never admit it to her, she knew Percival felt the same when she told him Geoffrey was coming. Unsure of what to say, all she managed was: "I'm sure your son doesn't resent you at all."

"He might not say it, but sometimes I can see it in his eyes."

"Are you sure you're reading his expression right? I can't imagine Jael feeling that way. He has such a good heart."

"I'm sure of it, Chris. I'm sure that's what he's thinking, because he looks at me with my own eyes."

Only the sounds of the horses' hooves were heard as Chris formed a suitable response, and even then she wasn't sure what comfort it would be to Salome. "Years ago, Ryan asked me once why Percival is never home. I didn't lie to him. I told him the truth—that his father was protecting us, and that required him to leave us from time to time. He understood that. I'm sure Jael does, too. I'm sure he misses you terribly, and just hates to see his mother lonely."

"Perhaps, but I still feel that sometimes I am neglecting those that are most important to me, even if I try to validate it with my own rhetoric."

Chris nodded to him in sympathy as Brass Castle came into view above the trees. "I think we all do that, my friend. It goes with the territory of this life—a life we chose."

"Yes, but we choose it when we are too young and naïve to think of long term consequences."

"Are you saying you regret becoming a knight?" She tried to hide the surprise at her question, but wasn't very successful.

"No," he said with a sigh. "I don't regret it, but I will admit that I was enchanted by the romance of it, as I'm sure you were."

She smiled, desperately trying to make light of the situation. "Of course. What child doesn't fantasize about putting on a suit of polished armor and riding a fine horse into battle?"

Salome shook his head as his tone hardened and horse's hooves clipped on the cobblestones that led to the castle's gate. "Sometimes I wonder if the reason we wear polished armor is just so that it's easier to wash the blood off."

* * *

Chris stood in front of the wooden door and raised her fist to knock. Ever since the moment that Louis and Salome explained the Council's instructions for her, she knew exactly whom she would ask to be her escort. Yet standing here in front of his quarters, she knew her request would be met with a battle, and one that she was ill prepared for. Regardless, she had to leave the next morning, so gaining his cooperation was vital.

Once her fist hit the door, it swung open; apparently it had not been latched correctly. And there, in the room, in quite a stage of undress was none other than the Swordsman of Rage himself. He froze as she stared at him in shock for a moment, neither of them daring to laugh at the faux pas. Finally, she quickly apologized and slammed the door shut.

A few moments later, he opened the door, now decent and smiled at her, the blush on his cheeks still tingling.

"I'm sorry Borus," she said before giving him a gentle tease. "But you do know how to latch doors, don't you?"

He didn't give her more than a shrug of his shoulders as he ushered her inside his quarters. The room looked just like Percival's, but the furniture was much more luxurious. Motioning to the sofa on the far side of the room, he just simply said, "You're back."

Lowering herself onto the couch, she smiled at him. "I am, but I'm not staying more than a night."

He brushed his blonde hair out of his face as he took a seat next to her. "Thank the Goddesses! You've decided to listen to reason."

"Pardon me?"

"You're going home, right? You're taking the children and going back to Iksay," he said in an uncharacteristic cheerful tone.

She met his dark eyes. "No, Borus. I'm not."

His brow furrowed in worry. "Where did you leave them, Chris?"

"With Torrie. And Louis is helping, too."

Borus closed his eyes tightly in frustration as a sigh slipped between his lips. He wasn't sure what to say, or even if there was any point in it.

Chris raised an eyebrow at his disapproval. "You think I'm crazy, don't you? You think it was an easy decision, don't you!?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just find it unbelievable that you'd abandon your children at a time like this! If it was because you needed money--"

Chris's eyes narrowed at her friend as the charge began. "I didn't abandon anyone, Borus. While I can't afford to give expensive gifts to small children, I can certainly scrape together enough money to make sure they are well fed."

He scoffed at her. "You left them with Torrie and Louis? A child and a cripple? How protective can the two of them be? I'm sure you learned that Torrie moved out of my parents' home and now lives in one of the slummiest areas of Zexay."

Chris lashed out, and her tongue was sharper than her blade ever had been. "You are so arrogant! At Torrie's age I was commanding the Army, and Louis is quite capable of taking care of himself. I find it despicable that you would insult both of them!" She smirked at him, "Or would you rather I have left them with you? A knight past his prime who drinks himself to death on a nightly basis and wakes up next to whatever barmaid he can convince to return to his room?"

His face contorted with many unpleasant responses but he swallowed all of them, as a tense pause stretched through the room. She was right, and he knew it, so all he offered was a defeated shake of his head and a somber response. "You've made your point, but they still need their mother."

She jumped to her feet, a bit of guilt hitting her for continuing the battle even as he waved the white flag. "How the hell would you know what they need! How the hell do you know how hard it was for me to make this decision! You're not even a parent!"

Borus flinched as the last blow stung what was left of his ego, but he kept his tone soft. "No, I'm not, and one day, if Loa wills it, I hope to be one. But I do know that leaving those kids in a strange city while you run off to prove something you don't need to prove is stupid and pointless."

She sat back down next to him as she considered his words, knowing an apology for her attack wasn't necessary. Long moments of needed silence held between them, and when she finally found the courage to say exactly what she wanted, her voice faltered before she could finish the sentence. "I'm not proving anything to anyone. I just…I just…"

"You just what?" He asked gently.

"I just want Percival back," she whispered, as she felt a knot form in her throat.

Borus pulled her into a warm embrace and rubbed her back soothingly. He knew she wouldn't cry—not in front of him at least.

Without looking up from the comfort of his arms, she said, "Before you say 'he's not coming back,' then if that's the case, I want to know that so I can tell my children. I don't want them living the nightmare I went through with my father."

"I guess I can understand that. They deserve to know the truth—we all do."

Chris nodded as she sat up and broke free of his grasp. "Yes. We all do. Even if it's not what we want to hear. Still, I'm sure he's alive. Don't ask me how I know. I can just tell."

He took her hands and squeezed them as he gave her a smile. "I have that feeling, too."

"Will you go with me, then?"

"Go where?"

She glanced down at the floor. "The Council has charged me with finding Lilly Pendragon and questioning her about the so-called Tinto Army."

Borus laughed, "Sounds like a wild goose chase."

"It is. The Council just wants me out of their hair, I'm sure. Will you come? I'm leaving tomorrow morning for Karaya. Lilly was last seen there."

"I don't know how welcome either of us will be in that place," he muttered.

She touched his arm gently. "Neither do I, but it's time for us to atone for our sins, Borus. Perhaps this is just a test that Loa wishes us to pass together."

"Maybe, but Chris…even if I wanted to go with you, I can't."

"What do you mean you can't? Salome said I could take anyone I wanted, and I chose you."

He rubbed his forehead in tormented deliberation before giving her an answer. "It's not that. I'm sure my duties will be covered. I just don't think you understand the position I'm in."

"What are you talking about?"

He looked away from her and out into the distance. "I promised Percival that I'd never let you do something like this, and now not only am I failing to stop you, you're asking for my help."

She gave him a tiny smile. "Yes, but you also promised me once that you'd always fight by my side as well, Borus."

"I know, and that complicates matters even more," he said as he met her eyes.

Holding his gaze, she said calmly, "But I'm here and he's not."

* * *


	7. Chapter Six

**Missing in Action **

** Chapter Six **

Standing atop one of the towers of the castle just as the sun broke over the horizon, Leo Gallen took in a sight he enjoyed just about this time every morning. It was an eerie sort of glow that illuminated the castle every dawn, and well worth appreciating before breakfast. Brick and stone almost seemed to shimmer like metal under the bright rays, perhaps personifying the name Brass Castle.

Today, the middle aged, yet tenacious and strong knight kept his eyes fixed off in the direction of the eastern gate, waiting to watch two old friends depart. Time had been kind to "Iron Leo," the man known for his immense size and incredible strength. Gray hair had started to take over his head, and a few more lines of stress creased his face, but neither of these things affected his deadly swing with an axe.

Leo heard footfalls behind him, but did not turn around. He was sure it was just another friend, wanting to see Chris depart. By the length of the stride, he guessed it to be Roland, and when the other spoke, he realized he was correct.

"I'm not surprised in her choice of escort, but I do pray he will be on his best behavior," the elf said as he moved to stand next to the large man.

"You worry too much, Roland," Leo said with a grin. "I know Chris just as I know my own four girls, and I guarantee you that she won't put up with any of his stupidity."

"It's not his stupidity I'm worried about."

"Ah," Leo said as he grinned at the elf. "It's no secret how Borus feels for her, but I know that he respects her marriage and her husband."

"You put more faith in him than I do in that regard," Roland said flatly. "Do you remember when Borus and Percival first became acquainted with each other? They fought like dogs about every idiotic thing until Galahad had them locked in the same cell down in the dungeon for a week."

Leo gave a reminiscent smirk. "And they walked out the best of friends." After a pause, he rubbed his chin and said, "Though I wonder how we'll replace Borus in our next battle."

"Noble, strong and a little short on brains—I'm sure we'll find a suitable substitute among our ranks," said a tired voice as its owner approached from behind.

Leo laughed heartily at the Captain's joke, but Roland didn't-- he never did, and the others had long ago learned to accept that humor was always lost on the elf. Pointing towards the eastern bridge, the large man announced, "There they go."

The three knights watched in deferential silence as the two figures on horseback diminished into the distance, heading towards the Grasslands. From the tower, they looked nearly identical—both dressed in leathers and mounted on sturdy bay chargers. Just as they were about to leave the stony bridge of the castle, the riders turned their horses around and waved in the direction of their friends above.

Salome, Leo and Roland all returned the farewell, but were unsure that they could be seen from the ground. The crenellated tower did a good job of hiding men who patrolled it, but still allowed one to keep watch. A moment later, the horses were pressed into a canter and carried their riders the distance to the horizon. When they were gone, Leo asked, "What do you think she'll learn from Lilly, assuming she finds her?"

"I don't know, but I wonder if the Council wasn't a little too eager to get rid of her," Salome answered with a sigh. "Although I'd rather have her out there than on the front lines."

Roland narrowed his eyes. "I believe this is more dangerous and is just an excuse the Council is using to rid themselves of Chris. They despise her for not carrying out their wishes and being a host for that blasted Rune. All of their other hatred for her stems from that, I'm sure of it."

Leo scratched the back of his neck. "Aye. But we must remember that she's not a child. She has to make her own mistakes."

"True," Salome said quietly. "But I can't help but take some of the blame for the reason she feels she must put herself at risk."

As he scrutinized the rash of people going about their early morning business in the castle, Roland tugged on one of the many piercings that adorned his long ears. "You shouldn't, my friend. Percival knew the perils of war, and so does Chris. There's no way you could have foreseen the ambush at Dubios."

The Captain rubbed his forehead, but didn't respond to Roland's reasoning. "I'm sure she'll find Lilly. I just hope old friendship takes priority over this war."

After a beat, Leo yawned and stretched his arms skyward. "I'm wondering how we're going to take back Dubios—especially if we're not sure what's in there."

A sly calculated grin crossed the strategist's lips. "Oh, I've got an idea about that."

"I guessed you would have one, Captain." Roland said, a smile almost twitching across his austere face.

"How many days do we have to prepare the men?" Leo asked.

"We march in three days, so I'll need you to start gathering provisions, Leo." The huge man nodded, but before he could speak, Salome turned to Roland and gave another order. "Gather all the women in our Army and find them some dresses."

The stoic elf raised an eyebrow before giving a salute. "I fear to ask what you are thinking, but I know enough to trust you."

------

Rain glazed stones made travel on the streets of Vinay del Zexay more difficult than usual for Louis, but this did not deter him from his self-appointed mission. Normally he would have walked the distance, but the sheeting downpour made that impossible. Wrapped in a cloak for fear of catching cold, he flagged down a carriage and paid the driver to take him to his destination.

As the wheels of the coach creaked along the slick streets of the city, he felt his sleeve to be sure he was carrying the document that needed to be delivered urgently. Satisfied that he had indeed remembered the precious package, he wrapped the blue woolen cloak tightly around his shoulders, and listened to the rain caroming on the roof.

Just as he felt himself start to doze off, the carriage came to an abrupt stop. The driver opened the door and said, "We're here, Councilman."

Gathering his crutches, Louis said, "Please wait. I'll pay you double for the return."

The man doffed his cap, and offered a hand to the former knight, who accepted the assistance. Being extra careful because of the slick conditions, he pulled himself up the marble steps of the immense house. He'd been here before, but every time he returned, it always seemed bigger. The tall oak doors were adorned with intricate carvings of scenes from legend, and in the center, the family seal—a stylized "R."

Louis pulled the bell cord and waited. A moment later a servant answered the door and ushered him into the foyer. He asked, "Is Lord Robert here?"

"Is he expecting you, milord?"

"No, but it is urgent. Please tell him that Louis Keeferson is here to see him."

The butler took the Councilman's cloak and bowed, leaving Louis alone in the extravagant foyer. Above him, a huge chandelier consumed most of the decorated ceiling, and the crystals that hung off it majestically magnified its soft candlelight. Web-like designs crept along the top of the room, flaunting a spectacular and unique show overhead. Enjoying this small bit of decadent beauty, he fondly thought of Torrie, and how her pride made her choose to leave this palace to live in her small flat.

"Councilman! So good to see you! What brings you here on such a dreary night?" Lord Robert called as he approached the younger man, interrupting his thoughts. "Let's go into my study."

Louis smiled as he followed the merchant into a room off the foyer. It was relatively small, well appointed with a cherry desk, two wingback chairs and small, deep green sofa. The walls were paneled in matching wood, giving a strong feeling of warmth even though there was no fireplace to produce heat. A few papers were neatly stacked upon the desk, and a pair of deer antlers were mounted on the wall along with a couple of small landscape paintings. "Pardon the hour, milord, but I received something from Brass Castle that I thought you should have immediately."

"Good news, I hope?" The older man asked with trepidation, as he motioned to the couch.

Glancing over his shoulder to be sure the door was closed, and satisfied that it was, Louis sat down and produced the paper from his sleeve and held it out to the other. "I'm not sure, milord. It is sealed."

Lines of concern traced Lord Robert's face, but they seemed to ease as he saw his own family seal on the back. Breaking the wax, he unfolded the paper and began to read the note.

Louis felt uncomfortable sitting there, as if he was intruding on a family matter. He started to pull himself to his feet. "I shall be going then, milord. But I beg you not to mention this to anyone. It could cost me my head."

The elder man looked up, and then took a seat in the wingback closest to the Councilman. "And mine as well. No worries, but please wait a moment before you leave."

Louis did as he was asked, and not even a minute later, the man smiled at him as he finished reading the note. "Borus is well, and while I wish that some day he will return and run our business with his brother, I also know that he must follow his heart. You cannot imagine the relief it brings me to read a letter from him. I thank you for this, Councilman, and if there's anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask."

Louis thought for a moment, "I suppose Torrie told you everything?"

"Yes. I gave her the option of moving back here, but she didn't want to, and for that I am sad. I consider that girl to be the daughter I always wished for." He grinned at Louis, the friendly twinkle returning to his bright eyes. "She has such a good heart and strong spirit—you'd best not break either!"

Louis felt his face flush, "Yes, milord."

Lord Robert grinned at him. "There's a good lad! Now, be assured that I told Torrie to spend as much time as she needs to with the children."

Louis nodded. "Thank you for being so understanding. However, might I ask a favor?"

"I said not to hesitate."

"Lady Chris told me to sell her son's pony so that Torrie wouldn't have to pay to feed it, but I think in doing so, the boy will be crushed. Would you keep it in your stables?"

"Of course, and be sure to tell him should he wish to ride, to come by any time."

"I will."

The door cracked open and a tall, fair-haired man in his thirties entered. Louis knew him as Jared, the elder Redrum son. He gave a nod to Louis in greeting and then said, "Father, dinner's ready."

Lord Robert smiled, but did not rise from his seat. "Open another bottle of wine. We're celebrating tonight, thanks to the news Councilman Keeferson has brought me."

Jared scoffed at his father, "What are we celebrating? Has my brother managed to survive another battle in the adolescent fantasy he calls his life?"

The portly man glared at his son, but still gave his reprimand in a gentle tone. "I'll be grateful if you quit insulting your own family, Jared."

"Family? He's never around—except when he needs to spend some of your money on pittances for others."

Lord Robert held up his hand sternly and laughed, clearly trying to make light of the situation. "I consider it well spent, but enough of this argument. You must forgive my son for his ill manners, Councilman, but as you know, high spirits run in this family and often they make themselves known at the most inopportune times."

Louis smiled at the diplomatic way the man handled the situation. "No problem, Lord Robert. Remember that I have six elder brothers. Sibling rivalry is nothing new to me."

The merchant laughed heartily as his son even gave a bit of a grin. "You're a good sport, Councilman. Care to join us for dinner?"

"Ah, thanks for the offer, but no. I regret that I have a previous engagement."

"I'm sure you do," Lord Robert said with a wink. "Let me get you a bottle of my finest vintage. She'll need it after chasing two small boys all day!"

------

Kylan stretched and leaned over the railing of her ship, relishing the refreshing salty smell of the sea. Ever since she was a girl, she'd treasured these few moments when she could listen to the water clasp against the hull and feel the stray splashes touch her cheek. All twenty-eight years of her life she'd lived on boats, and never once did she regret it. The ocean was so much more inviting than the land, although it commanded a great deal more respect from those who chose to make it their home.

Peering off into the distance, and the impeding fall of night, her eyes caught sight of a large bird, flying towards them and clearly carrying something tied to its leg. She gave a shrill whistle, calling the animal towards her, and held out an arm for it to land upon.

Rasfel, a redheaded man that had been with her since her father died, trotted over as he heard her signaling the bird. "Captain, have we received new orders?"

She smirked as she untied the small bundle from the bird. "You should know by now that I give the orders, Shipman. These people simply pay me for my services."

"Of course, my Captain," he humbly replied.

The woman unfurled the note and read it with a grin. "They are finally learning. All of the information I requested has been sent the first time." Looking at the man, she said, "It seems we have some more Zexens to hunt. Come about and set course for Dubios. Draw in the sheets and waste no time. I want landfall in two days or less."

"Shall I send word to the rest of the fleet?" He asked as he took the bird from her.

"No, but signal our men on land. We'll need their assistance yet again."

He silently gave a salute and went to follow the order.

Kylan watched as the sun crested behind the water, and made her way to the bow. Looking down into a grate, she nearly held her nose at the stench coming from below. Fearing her prey had perished in the three days she had kept him down there, she called, "Andrew!"

No response came.

She crouched down, trying to see into the depths of the chamber, but all she could make out was the dim outline of the top of his head. The thick, dark hair was matted down along the sides of his face, which she could not see. Again she yelled down to him, and again there was no response.

Panic started to strike her, but she refused to succumb to it. If her part of the contract had been broken, she could always explain it away by the risks of dealing with a trained knight. Still, hoping she wouldn't have to face her client, nor offer a refund of the large sum of money, she stomped on the grate, but the form below still didn't budge. Looking around the deck, she called out to two men who were tying off some fishing nets. They ran over and she pointed at the grate. "Open it and haul him out. If he's dead, strip him, and toss him out to sea."

In unison they replied, "Yes, my Captain."

------

"Lord Robert sent this with his compliments," Louis said as he worked the cork out of the top of the wine bottle.

Torrie gave him a skeptical look, "And just what were you doing at the store?"

He poured the wine—it was a sweet smelling white that normally must have been quite expensive, judging from just the quality of the aroma. "Ah, I wasn't at the store, my dear."

"You went to the house?" She asked before fixing a harsh gaze on him, and asking a pointed question. "Louis, what are you up to?"

"Nothing, I swear!" He said, as he held up his hands in playful surrender. At her dubious look he conceded, "I just asked him to stable Ryan's pony. That's all."

"Chris wanted me to sell it."

"Yes, but don't you think that would upset him? He's lost enough as it is, my dear."

"I suppose you're right. But I wish you wouldn't go around asking for favors for me."

"Lord Robert offered," he said as he handed her a glass and then raised his own.

"But why bother him at the house, Louis?" She asked as she ran her finger along the lip of the glass, knowing there was more to this story than he was telling.

He smiled at her, his bright green eyes glinting with mischief as he took a sip of the wine. "I brought him a letter from Borus."

Torrie nearly dropped her drink. "Louis! They've hung men for less! What were you thinking? You know the law!"

"The law about traitors most certainly doesn't apply to Borus—I can personally vouch for him. Besides, no one will ever know because Salome sent it directly to me with some other documents by bird early this morning. There was no harm, and if you'll pardon the pun, no foul."

She sighed before asking, "Was anyone else home?"

"I only saw Lord Robert and Jared."

She took a sip of the wine, and then replaced the glass on the table. "I hope Jared didn't see the note. He's awfully sore at his brother. When I was living in that house, he never said anything nice about Borus."

"I know they don't get along, but I doubt he'd turn on his own family."

She shrugged, "He seemed to resent me the moment I moved in, but then, I've noticed he's that way with everyone. It's a wonder his wife can put up with him."

"Perhaps she overlooks his flaws in favor of his large inheritance?"

"Maybe, but I don't think any amount of money would be worth being married to such an arrogant man."

He smiled at her as he put his glass down and draped an arm over her shoulders, ready to change the subject from the Redrums. "How are you doing with the children? Is there anything you need me to do?"

She curled into his embrace. "I honestly don't know how Chris does it. They have so much energy. I took them to the market this morning and almost lost track of Ryan."

He laughed and then nuzzled her cheek. "You'll do fine, I'm sure."

"You have such confidence in me," she said as she pressed her nose to his with a giggle.

Louis brushed her dark curls out of her face with a smile. "Your courage is one of the many things I adore about you, my dear."

She leaned in and gave him a tender, teasing touch on the lips, which begged for something more valiant and romantic. He obliged her, wrapping his arms around her neck to pull her closer, and pressing his lips to hers in a passionate, blissful kiss. For many long sensual moments they caressed, simply lost in each other's touch.

Then, just as his hand curled around one of her breasts, and was about to venture to the buttons on the bodice of her dress, a noise from behind him caused her to break the kiss, open her eyes, and look up. There she spotted Geoffrey, standing in the hallway and giggling hysterically. Looking down to be sure her garment was still intact, and satisfied that it was, she whispered in her confused lover's ear, "We're being watched."

Louis glanced over his shoulder, his face flushed red. He gave a sheepish smile to the little blond boy, who just laughed at them. Knowing this would be the end of it, just as things got interesting, he decided to make the best of the situation. He gave Torrie a peck on the cheek before whispering, "Ah, he thinks we're funny. Let's make him laugh some more."

She grinned back at him, and the two of them made a show of giving each other a farcical kiss, just to watch the child's reaction.

Wide-eyed with fascination at the behavior of the two adults, the small boy called towards the spare bedroom. "Ryan! They're _kissing!_ Like Mommy and Daddy!"

His brother approached him, and grabbed his arm, without even looking at the flamboyant display of affection going on in the living room. "Come on! We're supposed to be in bed."

The younger boy just pointed at the now-grinning couple and laughed some more.

"Leave Torrie alone with her beau," Ryan said as he pulled his brother's sleeve. "She doesn't need you watching her."

Geoffrey protested as he was led away. "That's not a beau. That's just Mommy's friend Louis."

Ryan shook his head at the younger boy's ignorance, and practically dragged him back to the bedroom. "You don't get it, Geoff. I'll explain when you're older."

------

After three days of riding, Karaya finally came into view just as night consumed the silence of the plains. Torches set around the camp illuminated the nomadic village, giving the animal skins that constructed the homes a ferocious glow. Thatched reeds sealed with dry mud strengthened the roofs, and large, brightly colored banners adorned the buildings, proclaiming the symbols of the families that occupied them.

Taking a deep breath as he faced the nightmare that chased him every time he slept, Borus dismounted and approached the two warriors standing guard at the front of village. Chris did the same, and gave her escort a look of encouragement.

The guards were barely adults, but still appeared to be capable warriors. At the sight of the two knights, the male's eyes hardened and he muttered something to his female counterpart in both his native language and the more commonly used one. Through the exchange, Chris caught a few words that were definitely intended for her to hear and understand. _Legend. Fire. Silver. Butcher._ Turning to Borus, whose shoulders slumped at their conversation, the boy asked sternly, as he and the girl gripped their bows, "What is your business here?"

Borus said, "We come to speak to Flame Champion Hugo."

"Our Chief is unavailable," was the quick and firm response from the female.

"May we see him in the morning?" Borus asked.

"No. He is unavailable then as well," said the boy with stern glare. "And for Zexen Knights, he'll never be available."

"There has been a treaty between our Council and your tribe for a decade. As you can see, we are not wearing armor, or acting in any official capacity."

"You are carrying weapons," the boy growled.

"For protection on the plains only. We will leave them here if you'd prefer," Chris said as she stepped up to stand with her friend.

Borus gave her an incredulous look, but said nothing.

The girl reached into her quiver. "You two are not welcome here and if you don't leave immediately, we'll kill you for trying to invade our camp."

"Again, we're not invading," Chris said quietly. "Will you please just tell Hugo or Lucia that we are here? We needn't come into your village. We only have a question and then we'll be on our way."

The boy nocked an arrow to his bow, and pointed it at Borus, his voice straining against his rising fury, and his hands shaking with rage and nerves. "They are not leaving alive, Kirea! I will be a hero when I kill the man who murdered my mother!"

"You're sure it's him, Arie?" The girl asked as she drew back and pointed her weapon at Chris.

Arie was screaming something in Karayan, but Borus did not move nor reach for his blade. He simply kept his eyes fixed on the boy, as if ready to accept his fate. The arrow was let fly, but the boy's anxiety caused a bad shot. It sailed over Borus's shoulder and landed a good distance behind him.

After shouting back to her counterpart words that could not be understood, Kirea turned to Chris. "Remove your weapon and get on your knees! I will slay the Silver Maiden whose Dogs rained down the Fire and let her Golden Wolf feast upon innocent people!"

Chris sighed as she followed the orders and looked up at the agitated boy and girl. There was so much rage in their souls, justified or not, that she wanted to apologize for what had happened during the war. Glancing over at Borus, she could tell by the way he hung his head that his portrayal as a predator in tribal lore was strangling him.

As she felt the moisture of the damp earth seep through her pants and tingle her knees, Chris heard Arie yelling at Borus to drop his sword, but the knight shook his head.

"I said drop it!" The boy screamed as he reached for another arrow.

"I won't let you kill Chris," Borus growled as he tightened his grip on his weapon. "Kill me if you want, but don't you _dare_ touch her."

"Borus," Chris pleaded with her friend. "Just do as they ask." She looked back at the Karayans with resilience in her eyes. "They know it will be dishonorable to their family and tribe if they kill us in cold blood."

Kirea ignored the warning and positioned herself to bury an arrow of revenge in the woman's chest.

"No!" Borus yelled as he drew his blade and began to advance upon the pair, in the hopes of distracting them long enough for Chris to come to her senses and pick up her weapon. "They may just look like children, but they are willing to slay us!"

Chris did not close her eyes as the bow was pulled back, and just said calmly, "I know Karayan warriors have more respect for life than this."

Borus shook his head at the idiocy of the situation and started to dart in front of his fellow knight, when a familiar female voice shouted, "Arie and Kirea! What is going on?"

Through the darkness, a proud woman became visible. Dressed in the traditional style of the Karayans, her blonde hair showed no signs of gray despite her middle age. Creases of motherly worry and frustration had ribboned her face, but certainly not in a way that would detract from her natural beauty. She gave a smirk at the knights before holding a hand up to a group that was following her. "Hello again, Chris. It's been awhile."

"Indeed, Lucia."

"Have you come to pay us a social call?" The Karayan asked, putting a hand on her hip, and glaring at the two young guards, who reluctantly lowered their weapons.

"No," Chris answered as she stood up and retrieved her weapon. "I have come for your counsel and to see Hugo as well."

"My son is at a meeting of the Six Clans, but I will do my best in his stead." The older woman laughed as her eyes walked over Borus. "I had heard that you followed my advice. I'm glad to know it was not wasted!"

As he sheathed his sword Borus whispered to his fellow knight, "What the hell is she talking about?"

Chris grinned at her friend, "Never mind."

Lucia smiled at the two of them. "It is late, Silver Maiden. If you seek my counsel, you will need to wait until morning. We have no inn, but since you were once an ally, I will offer you a room in my home."

"Thank you," Chris said with a slight bow of her head. "We will accept your gracious offer."

"Arie and Kirea will care for your horses," Lucia ordered, giving a stern look to the two. "It's the least they can do to make up for their unfriendly greeting."

The young warriors took the horses, each one giving the knights a measured look of disgust for getting them reprimanded. Chris and Borus followed Lucia to her home, which was the largest structure in the village. They passed many people who clearly had the same feelings that the two guards did, but no one dared to say anything. Friends of the village Chief, no matter how undesirable, were to be treated well.

Lucia guided the pair into her home, and pulled a drape aside to reveal their quarters before bidding them goodnight. The "room" was tiny, and barely concealed from the rest of the house, which smelled of incense and roasted meat. There was one large stuffed bearskin with a colorful, handmade blanket on the floor for a bed A matching one was suspended across the ceiling to protect from drafts, but no other furniture save a small carved pot in the corner.

Chris quickly removed her weapon, leathers, and boots to sit down on the strange animal mattress. Pulling her hair out of its plait, she reached into her pack for the one luxury she allowed herself—a brush.

Borus looked incredibly uncomfortable. "Chris, I'll go sleep outside."

"You can't refuse Lucia's hospitality," she said gently as she tugged at her tresses. "What are you afraid of?"

"Don't you think this is—inappropriate?" He asked as he pointed to the single bed that still sported the head of the animal.

She placed the brush back in her pack and lay back on the bearskin. It was much different than she was used to, but the fur was remarkably soft. It smelled of the earth, but not in an offensive way. "I slept next to you the last two nights, Borus, and many times before that."

He removed his weapon belt, but did not let it out of his grasp. "In a camp, Chris. In a different bedroll."

Cuddling into the unusual bed, she gave a yawn, and then spoke without even looking at him. "Borus, I trust you. Now get some sleep because we're going to have to get up early tomorrow."

He relented, but only after he was sure she was asleep. Trying not to look at her, for fear of old desires creeping up on him, he slipped down onto animal skin in the hopes of being able to find some rest between the cursed village and the beautiful woman sleeping next to him. After many long minutes had passed, and he had all but memorized the pattern of the ceiling drape, he granted himself a moment to stare at her in peaceful repose. One thought held in his mind as his eyes traced the shape of her body in the poorly lit room, _Percival, you better know just how lucky you are…_


	8. Chapter Seven

_Author's Note: Special thanks to Alastair and Danienna for their help with this chapter._

**Missing in Action**

Chapter Seven

Morning in Karaya Village was remarkably quiet, so much so that Chris overslept. Exhaustion from the travel of the past few days combined with the anxiety of the mission had taken its toll on her, and finally her body collected on the debt. Perhaps it was the bucolic stillness of the place, or the cozy, earthy scent of the bearskin, or even Borus's gentle snoring, but something finally put her at ease enough that she found a deep, welcome, sleep.

When she finally awoke, her stomach was growling, her companion was gone, and the sun was quite high in the sky. Afraid that she had upset her host, she dashed out of the small chamber without even bothering to tie up her hair.

"Good morning," Lucia said as Chris appeared in the living space of the hut. "Or should I say good afternoon?"

"My sincerest apologies. I didn't mean to—"

The Karayan cut her off with a wave of her hand and a good-natured grin. "You were exhausted. I know by your traditions it would be considered an insult, but here enjoying another's hospitality to the fullest is the greatest of compliments. Now, let's have some lunch. Have a seat near the fire."

With a nod, Chris walked to the center of the house and sat down on the floor, tucking her legs under the low table. It had some intricate carving on it, symbols she didn't recognize, but guessed to be words in the Karayan language. On the table were two thatched mats that were to be used as plates and a small vase holding a single white flower.

Lucia disappeared into another small chamber and returned with two baskets that she placed on the table before taking a seat on the floor opposite her guest. Waving her hand over the food, she said to Chris, "I hope this is to your liking."

"Of course," Chris replied as she glanced down at the baskets of cooked meat and fresh fruit. "I truly appreciate your generosity. I just wish Borus had remained to enjoy it as well."

"He was up before the sun and seemed restless," Lucia said as she took a piece of the meat and began to break it into pieces with her fingers. "I suggested that he join the men on our daily hunt."

Chris nodded as she helped herself to some fruit, thankful to learn that Borus hadn't run off or caused trouble. "He doesn't like feeling useless. It will be good for him."

Lucia's eyes narrowed as they followed Chris's hand. "Your rune is gone."

"I had it sealed," she said simply.

"You did not want to be immortal?"

Looking her host in the eye, she replied: "I would rather live a normal life with my family than be condemned to watch them perish. They are more important to me than a hero's title or eternal life."

Lucia gave a warm maternal smile. "I understand and respect your decision."

"Thank you."

The women ate in silence for a few moments until Lucia asked, "So why have you come all this way?"

Chris tried some of the meat, tearing it into small bits with her fingers just as her host had done. "As I said last night, I have come for your counsel."

"On what matter?"

The Zexen was pleasantly surprised at the smoky, sweet taste of the meat that she guessed to be rabbit. Breaking off another bite, she said, "Lilly Pendragon."

Lucia's tone grew harsh. "She is none of my concern, or the concern of my clan. My son has worked hard to keep us out of this war, and I intend to uphold his wishes."

Chris sighed as she gave a slight shake of her head. "I am not asking for you to dishonor your son or his wishes. I am only seeking Lilly on a personal matter—not one of my country. I am not even traveling in any official capacity, and Borus is not under my command. He's only here as a friend and escort."

The Karayan seemed a bit suspicious as she ate the last of the fruit. "Last I heard, you were living off in the wilderness and had married one of your knights. I had assumed he was the one since it would make an easy cover—a couple traveling together."

The younger woman grew defensive. "No, we're not under any sort of guise, and he's not my husband. I married Percival. He was also with us during the war." At the other's confusion, she added: "He was taller, and had dark hair."

"Was?" The Kayaran asked gently.

"He was missing at the last report. I am desperately trying to find Lilly in the hopes that she would know more."

"Or to ransom her," Lucia said with a raised eyebrow. "One President's daughter for a knight? It sounds like a one-sided trade to me."

"No," Chris said firmly. "Besides, Salome doesn't think we're even fighting Tinto anymore."

The older woman was even more skeptical. "How would Lilly know more if you just said you weren't fighting Tinto?"

"I'd hope she'd at least know who we are fighting so that I could arrange for the release of my husband."

Lucia finished her fruit, and set the pit back in the basket. "What if they are mercenaries that she hired? What would you do then?"

"I don't have an answer for that, but I would hope that Lilly would instruct them to show the same respect for their enemy that Tinto and other respectable nations do."

The Karayan seemed strangely intrigued. "Tell me what you do know about the people you are fighting, then."

Chris took a deep breath and relayed all of the information she had from Borus and Salome—the strange enemies, the lack of normal battles, and the fact that the Zexen Council insisted upon having everyone believe they were at war with Tinto. Finally, as she finished the tale of her travels from the past week, she paused and then said, "There is one other thing, too."

"What?"

"Borus told me when he found the weapons of Percival's unit that they were arranged in a bulls-eye formation."

Lucia's eyes grew cold, and her words were full smeared with surprise and hatred. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes," Chris nearly stuttered, caught off guard at the other woman's abrupt change of tone.

"Then I know who you are dealing with, Chris. I will also promise do everything in my power to help you find them."

Chris looked at Lucia in confusion. "I thought you wanted nothing to do with this?"

"Not any more," Lucia said, her pretty face contorting into a mask of loathing. "These people--they are called the Locusti and "mercenary" is too good of a term for them. They are more like pirates. They fight only for money, and their allegiance is sold to the highest bidder."

"You know them?"

"I know _of_ them, and I have some unfinished business _with_ them," the Karayan said as her nostrils flared with rage.

Shocked at the sudden change of demeanor of the other, Chris hesitantly asked, "Did Lilly hire them?"

"No respectable human being would use their services!" After taking a breath to collect herself, Lucia answered the question in a much more civil manner. "I will tell you where she is because now more of her story makes sense. A few years ago, she was forced into exile. She lived with us for a while, but when a few merchants from your country spotted her here a month or so ago, she fled to Caleria."

"Exile?" Chris asked, not even trying to hide the astonishment in her voice.

"There was an uprising in her country against her father."

"I didn't know that," the former knight said quietly. "I hope he is well."

"When Lilly lived among us, she spoke very little of her home. I believe she was doing so out of respect for my son's beliefs." The older woman took a long breath as she paused in thought. "But now that I know the Locusti are involved, I fear that he is dead."

"May I ask how you know these people?"

Lucia didn't answer. Reaching under the low table, she produced a long piece of wood with intricate carvings running down it. She inspected on end of it, and then tilted it and held it into the fire. A second later, it caught, and the former chief put her lips to the opposite end, drawing in a long breath. After exhaling the smoke, she passed the pipe to Chris and posed her own question. "Do you have any children?"

The Zexen accepted the pipe, knowing that refusing it would be an insult. Before drawing off it, she answered, "I have two sons. But what—"

"Just answer my questions and I'll explain while we smoke," Lucia said with smile. "Your sons, they will become knights?"

The smoke slowly escaped Chris's lips as she forced herself not to choke as it nearly came back up her throat. "My elder son, Ryan, probably will, but Geoffrey took ill as a baby."

"They will surprise you."

Chris gave a look of complete confusion as she passed the pipe back to Lucia. "I'm sorry, I'm not following you."

Lucia seemed to ignore her, and drew off the pipe before speaking, her voice somberly reminiscent. "Hugo did the same to me, you know. He used to be careless and would rather run off than practice his fighting skills. I never thought he'd take anything seriously, but he did. He made me proud to be his mother. I just wish his father could have seen him grow up." After a pause she met Chris's eyes, "Years ago I told you that we were very much alike—two strong women who had learn to show weakness as well as strength in order to have children of our own. You remember that discussion, don't you?"

Still puzzled, Chris reluctantly took another breath off the pipe as her face flushed at the memory of the conversation. "I…admit it is not a bad sort of weakness."

Lucia grinned at her. "Of course it's not, and there's no shame in enjoying it."

"I suppose you're right again," Chris said, before a moment of content silence passed between the two of them.

Looking down at the table, the Karayan returned the conversation to a serious tone. "Now we have another thing in common-- we both seek revenge upon the Locusti for the same reason. Twenty-five years ago they murdered my husband. He and eight others were out hunting one day. They didn't come back. When we found them, they were stripped naked and their bodies cruelly marked with a brand—a bulls-eye."

"I'm sorry to hear about your loss," Chris said softly, knowing quite well that the words were trite.

Lucia gave a nod of thanks and then scowled. "I swore to the spirits that I'd avenge his death, even if it took a lifetime. Hugo never knew his father because of these people. Hopefully the same fate won't befall your children."

"You think they've already killed Percival?" Chris asked, her voice nearly catching in her throat.

"I don't know for certain, but all the information your father uncovered for me shows they have no honor or care for human life."

Chris closed her eyes. "My father…"

Lucia nodded as she took the pipe back and put it out. "One of the many things Wyatt did for me while he lived with us was to uncover their identity. He tried to track them using his contacts, but they proved to be quite elusive."

"I see."

Lucia stood up, a calculated resolve in her gaze. "If you truly want to locate these people, I suggest that tomorrow you leave for Caleria and find Lilly. Bring her back here, and we'll see what else she knows. I regret that I really didn't ask her too many questions before, because as I said, we did not wish to get involved, and she didn't offer much information, probably out of respect of our feelings on the matter."

Chris got to her feet, and put her hand on her hip. "I will go. I swore to my children that I would bring their father back to them, and I certainly intend to keep that promise."

"And if they've already killed him?" Lucia asked gently. "What will you do?"

With eyes half-hooded in resolve the former knight responded tenaciously, "If he dead, he deserves a proper burial, and I will seek revenge on the person who killed him. As you said Lucia, we are quite alike."

The Karayan smiled at her. "Then I'll have my men pack some provisions for you. You know it's about a week's ride from here."

"Thank you," Chris said as she offered her hand.

Lucia took the woman's hand and then pulled her into an embrace. "No, thank you Chris. You have brought me hope that a vow I once made I will finally be able to fulfill, even now in my older years. I will pray to the spirits for your safety on the journey and that you and your children will not suffer the same grief that I did."

------

Kylan adjusted the false beard as she walked with Troian down the pier that led to the town of Dubios. Following the crudely paved street, they passed deserted stores, abandoned homes, and finally arrived in the square. It was silent, all signs of life carefully plucked away, and the buildings left as the only testimony to the once vibrant town.

Once in the square, the Captain and her First Mate glanced around. The woman gave a smirk at her handiwork that had caused the stillness. Standing there in the center of the dead town was a creation of precise engineering and morbid destruction. It was a gigantic oblique blade, ominously suspended between two dark timbers. A glint of sunlight ambled across the edge of the weapon, stopping only on the huge smear of dried blood in the middle of it.

Still admiring her invention, Kylan grinned. "Did any of them accept my gracious offer?"

"No, my Captain."

She snorted disdainfully. "Loyalty to their embittered country will be their undoing, but at least they will sate the hunger of my Lycontane."

Troian simply nodded to the smug woman, who was starting to look around, clearly agitated. Patience was definitely not one of her virtues, and those who made her wait would face a reprimand.

"My contact is late," she said flatly as she glanced down into a puddle to check the disguise and make up.

The fat man's eyes trained off in the distance at the city's large wall. Like many Zexen-built walls it seemed impermeable. Nearly thirty feet high, and at least ten feet thick, it had done well to protect Dubios in the past. A solid iron gate graced the center of it, adorned with spikes to deter any who would dare to invade.

As Kylan's expression began to melt into something even less pleasant, a man approached them from behind. He was tall and stout, with an impossibly thick neck. Greasy red hair snaked from his head, and fell about his shoulders as his slender blue eyes focused on the two in the square.

"Ah, Harvey. Good to see you again," Troian said, resuming his role as the Captain's Voice.

"I'm alone, so the disguise isn't necessary, Kylan." Harvey said tersely as bowed to his superiors. When the woman glared at him, he changed his tone and added, "Always a pleasure to serve."

"For what I'm paying you, it should be," the woman snapped.

Harvey sneered but bowed his head nonetheless, and asked the question that he was expected to. "What is your desire?"

Kylan smirked at him and gave her demands as if she was ordering off a menu. "The Zexens will return shortly. Dispense with their comrades. Put up a fight when they least expect it, but in the end give them the city. Afterwards, take your men to the rendezvous point. Oh, and be sure that my invention remains here. I want them to see it."

"Is that all?" He asked sarcastically.

Kylan held out a hand written letter and a small metal ring. "Place these with them as well."

"In plain sight?" Harvey asked as he took the items.

"Yes, be sure they can be easily found."

The slimy man was hesitant as he asked, "Anything else?"

Troian produced a scroll from his jacket pocket. "Assign someone dependable to this mission. We want to make sure it's done correctly."

Harvey raised a scruffy brow as he took the mysterious package and opened it. As he read it, his mouth twisted into a sneer. "Your clients are getting better at providing specific information. Be sure to thank them for that as well as the opportunity for one of my men to cross swords with such an illustrious foe."

Kylan glared at him before she put him in his place. "Enough of your dramatics. Just make sure it's done right."

Harvey quickly read the rest of the assignment. "Quick and painless? That's no fun."

Rubbing the false beard for effect that she didn't need, the Captain grinned like a cat. "That is the client's wishes. However, since his men have killed so many of ours over the past few years be sure he suffers."

"With pleasure, my Captain," he replied with a slight bow and then left.

The woman turned on her heel without even looking to see if her mate was following. "I hate that man! He's so indignant!"

"He was one of your father's strongest allies, Captain," Troian said tiredly as he trotted up to her. "He will complete the mission."

"I'm not worried about that," she spat, quickening her pace and changing the subject with a smirk. "Andrew best be up and working in the kitchen when we get back on board. I will so enjoy telling him about the fate I have just bought for his friend."

------

Roland wasn't surprised to find Salome staring out the windows of the meeting room. The view off the second floor of the castle was especially amazing when bathed in the evening sky, and such a sight could grant a moment of peace to the viewer, no matter how distracted he was otherwise.

Although he didn't want to interrupt his friend's thoughts, the elf did want to go home some time that evening. After a moment of standing there without being recognized, he asked, "You wanted to see me?"

Salome drew himself to his full height of nearly a hand over six feet, but did not turn around. "I need two more lieutenants. Do you have any suggestions?"

Roland didn't need to ask which positions needed to be filled, nor why, but he could certainly tell that simply having to make such a decision was bothering the other man. "The soldiers have great respect for Melville Lankingston. They know he fought with us back in the Fire Bringer War when he was just a boy. He is still young, but you could offer it to him on a trial basis until Borus returns."

Salome nodded silently.

"That is my suggestion. As to the other vacancy…perhaps Phillip Arton? He trained under Percival before being knighted and he certainly has the capability to lead."

"Fitting, I suppose," the Captain said as he finally turned around to face his friend. "Thank you for the recommendations. At the moment I don't feel like I could make an objective decision on such matters."

"I understand. Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

"No," Salome said as he took a seat at the large circular table in the center of the room. "I know you are anxious to go home to your family, but I have a plan to take Dubios back and I need your help to implement it."

"All right," the elf replied as he sat next to his friend. "Tell me what you want me to do."

Brushing the bangs of his dirty-blond hair from his face, the Captain said, "I want you to leave tomorrow with the women—a full day ahead of the rest of us. There are a few tiny towns just outside of Dubios. Stop at one of them and buy the oldest, lamest horses you can find and some rickety carts. Fill the carts with straw and barrels of wine."

"The straw shouldn't be a problem to find there, but the wine?"

"Take some from the castle cellar," he said with a shrug. "Ten barrels should be more than plenty."

"And when we get to Dubios?"

"Have the women put on the dresses you acquired for them. Then have them announce themselves at the gate as wine peddlers."

"You think the enemy will believe that?" Roland asked with a raised brow.

"I'm sure of it. There's probably only a small group of soldiers holding the city—a hundred men at most." Salome grinned as he added: "I'm sure they'll be thirsty."

"What about the men we encountered in the woods?"

"If you travel as traders, they shouldn't bother you, if they are even still there. I have the feeling that after our last encounter their mission was considered complete. But, on the off chance you do run into them, be sure to take note of their location."

Roland didn't like to second-guess the Captain, but one point bothered him. "You don't believe that there are any civilians inside the city? That is it just being held by soldiers?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. "If there are, they are Zexens. I doubt Tinto—or whomever we are actually fighting—has bothered to try to move settlers in. It's too expensive and too soon. Besides, all the intelligence that Louis has gathered for me shows that Tinto's treasury was exhausted years ago."

"Fair enough, but then how do you think they are financing this war?"

"It's hard to say," Salome said, exhaustion overtaking his tone. "It seems that orchestrating wars has become the game to play as of late."

Roland tilted his head ever so slightly. "Harmonia?"

"I'm not sure, but I've sent some letters to a few of my contacts. Louis is also doing his best to find out as well."

"All right. Now, about Dubios, once we are in the gates, what do you want us to do?"

"Reconnaissance. I want to know the exact location of every building and every guard. Check the trees, the walls, check every place from which the enemy could possibly ambush us again."

"Of course."

"There's more. The second night let the women serve the wine to some of the men in the city. When they are drunk enough, bind their hands and lock them up. If there are more than I anticipated, take care of as many as you can, then get out of the city and burn the wagons. If I see the smoke, I'll know we'll need a different plan."

"Should we drug them?" The elf asked as he rubbed his chin.

"No," Salome said as stood and reclaimed his place near the window. "In the event they force your group to prove it's not poisoned or drugged, you'll be able to do that."

Roland nodded. "It sounds simple enough, if not a bit more deceptive than your usual schemes."

"Although I prefer a head-on fight, with enemies that are scurrilous phantoms, we have to be more cunning," he said before turning back around to look out over the castle.

------

Larkstyle's Tavern was one of the sleazier dives of Vinay del Zexay. Located just off the docks, it attracted mostly sailors, but other folks with less attractive occupations also frequented it. The place was poorly lit, with just small candles on the tables for light, but this provided a much-needed cover for the transactions of the shady clientele. In a corner of the establishment sat two men who didn't fit into the ale-soaked the atmosphere at all. No one dared to interrupt their intense conversation—not even the surly barmaid.

"You and the others will need to secure a unanimous vote to quash any doubts the masses might have about such a move," the tall redheaded man said as he adjusted the scarf around his shoulders.

Justin Plasser shook his head as he cursed under his breath. His colleagues had forced him to meet with this horribly arrogant man to prove his sincerity to the group. The young Councilor wished the conference would end, because in the few minutes he had sat with the man, he had already decided that he despised him. "You'll never get it. Not with Keeferson and what little bit of remaining support he'll generate. People are strangely sympathetic to him."

"You have more faith in him than I expected."

The sandy-haired man pushed his spectacles up on his nose before taking a sip from his wooden mug. "I've seen him sway votes with just a few heart wrenching, charismatic words."

A haughty grin flashed across the tall man's face. "Not this time. Things are about to change. The people will be crying for war in less than a few days' time and you'll need a strong alliance to beat your unscrupulous enemies."

"How can you be so sure this will open those doors?" Plasser asked as he nervously glanced around.

"As I told your comrades years ago, Zexen will have to make some concessions, but I'm sure that in the end both of our respective nations will be pleased with the outcome."

"I hope you are not playing us," Justin warned as he drank again from his mug.

The redheaded man casually ran his finger through the flame of the candle. "Didn't I fully predict the actions of your own 'Silver Maiden?' The people have already started gossiping that she has returned to end the war. That in itself shows their hopes of victory have been revived, and the best time to crush hope is when it is at its strongest. Then there's no chance it will be resurrected."

"Yes, I'll give you that. She certainly didn't waste a moment before rushing into town and demanding to be allowed back into the Army."

"As I've said before, knowing what motivates people helps in exploiting them," he said conceitedly. "Now, with her gone, we're ready for the next step."

Justin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "So this next step then…it is…"

"Most necessary and information has already been sent to the people who will take care of it, as well as their payment."

"All right. They are reliable?"

The supercilious man snorted. "They've certainly kept your Army busy for the past five years."

"I don't mean that. I mean can they be trusted?"

The redheaded man glared at him. "I trust no one."

"How do you know them, then?"

"As I've already explained to some of your cohorts, I encountered them in my travels. It's best left at that. Now, in regards to the next tactic, you seem hesitant. I don't understand. You people wanted a war and I made one for you. Where's your bloodlust? Next time I think your colleagues should reconsider who they send to meet me."

The young Councilor glanced off the distance as if to check for eavesdroppers, but could not make out much in the dim tavern. "Sending Chris on a fool's quest was one thing, but killing Salome Harras seems a little extreme in comparison."

The redheaded man gave a bored sigh and seemed exasperated at having to explain his reasoning. "Without him, your Army will be in chaos and that is essential for the next part of the plan."

Plasser nervously scratched the back of his head. "You're absolutely sure? While the others don't seem to care, murder does bother me."

The man smirked, his green eyes reflecting the candlelight and causing him to appear most sinister. "That's what you and the others are paying me for--to be absolutely sure. Knights are killed in battle all the time. It's not murder, it's an occupational hazard."

Justin didn't answer, but simply took another sip of his drink, the sweat on his hands nearly causing him to drop the mug.

The arrogant man continued to play with the flame of the candle as he spoke, his tone remaining completely blasé and full of disdain. "Besides you don't really believe that Chris Lightfellow ever led your Army do you? Harras was doing it all a long and just using her as the pretty face that would give his orders. I have to hand it to him, it was a brilliant strategy, and I doubt your Army would have stood as strong against the Grasslanders had he not refused your Council's original offer of the Captain position."

"How could he convince her to go along with such a scheme?" Justin asked, now a little less agitated now that the conversation had devolved from plotting to simple gossip.

The redheaded man ran a hand through his disheveled hair and answered the question nonchalantly. "Stroked her ego, played on her sympathies—who knows. Maybe they were sleeping together. It doesn't matter. I would have done the same had it achieved my goal of winning a war."

"It doesn't make any sense," Justin said with a shake of his head.

Impatience and annoyance at the young man's ignorance were not held back as he gave a smirk-drawn response. "Let me try and put it in terms that you can understand. If you were a solider, would you rather pledge your life to a beautiful young woman or a homely middle-aged man?"

"You have a point there," Plasser replied flatly.

"Glad that you could see it. Now, you'll have to trust me on this one, but if you truly want to form a worthy alliance, we'll need Keeferson to agree as well. Arrangements have been made in that department, since as I said, solidarity is imperative for everything to work."

"Don't tell me you intend to kill him, too?" The bespectacled man whispered.

His lips curled into a near-chuckle, but still he replied in the same disinterested voice. "No, it wouldn't serve any purpose. Besides, you and your friends would do well to learn how to gain the sympathies of the people as he does."

With a scowl Justin asked, "Well then, what?"

Producing a small piece of paper with a broken seal, the tall man slid it to the young Councilor. "You are simply going to make him an offer he can't refuse."


	9. Chapter Eight

_Author's Note: Thanks again to Straya for letting me cameo her OCs, Ardeth and Jael. Also thanks to MercWanderer for a great beta-reading and to Minmei for advice on the gore scene._

**Missing in Action**

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

The wait was finally over, and for that, Roland felt morbidly relieved. When having to be the bearer of such horrible news, the elf felt it was best to just get it over with. He was afraid there might be a delay, given the short time they'd had to move the army, but Salome was never late, and today was no exception. 

Sitting bareback on his horse, he looked down the hill and saw the Zexen Army approach. The animal started to prance with excitement as it heard the familiar sound of clanking armor and smelled others of its species. Roland took a firmer contact with its mouth as he prepared for what he would have to do. The horse tossed its head as it felt the pressure, and curiously flicked its ears back, clearly sensing its rider's agitation.

In the distance, the knights looked like shiny beetles as they marched in ranks with their armor glinting in the sun. A few of the higher ranking ones sat atop their steeds, flanking the men on the ground. From the direction of the noise they made, he could tell they were heading straight towards the point where he was supposed to meet them. Drawing his reins in tighter, he knew it was time.

These few days he had spent scouting the terrain with the women had taken their toll on him. Between their harried travel and their grizzly discovery inside the city the day prior, no one in the group seemed to have any shred of morale left. Many whispered of a plague or curse, and although he was usually not prone to the superstition of humans, Roland tended to agree with them on this one instance.

A tall dark haired woman pulled her horse alongside his and asked, "What are we going to do?"

"That is for the Captain to decide," he replied as his eyes followed the movement of the arriving army.

"Shall I fetch him for you, milord?"

"No. I'll go myself," he said as his horse began to paw the ground. "Keep everyone here, Beatrice. And not a word of this until I say otherwise."

"Yes, milord."

"I'll be back soon."

"Milord? If I may be so bold?"

Preoccupied with the dreadful task he was about to execute, the reply came more annoyed than he had intended. "What is it?"

"Shouldn't you change, milord?" She asked cautiously, motioning to the costume the elf had donned as part of their ruse. They had dressed him as a slave in rough burlap clothing that had been rubbed extensively in the dirt and even removed his shoes and jewelry to make the outfit more believable. It was unattractive and demeaning, but still very plausible, since many members of his race had been sold into such a life in other parts of the world.

Turning his horse to leave, he shook his head. "As much as I despise these trappings, there isn't time for that."

His bare heels found the flank of his mount, and the two of them disappeared into the forest at a gallop. Twenty minutes or so he rode in the direction of the army, his weight shifted forward and off the horse's back for more speed as they darted in between the trees with the agility of a cat on the hunt.

Finally he came upon his fellow Zexens. Despite some confused looks, no one said anything as the filthy elf headed straight towards the captain. After a greeting over the noise of the marching men, Roland spoke in his native language. "I regret to inform you that we have a problem."

Few humans ever bothered to learn the language of the elves, but Salome was one of them. He wouldn't consider himself fluent, and Roland had told him numerous times that his accent was horrible, but something had to be said for the effort. "What is it?" Salome asked, keeping the discussion in the tongue his comrade had chosen, knowing that if Roland was using it, something was definitely amiss.

"Come with me."

"Right now?"

"Yes. Now." Roland said, his normal monotonous voice twitching with anxiety that he fought to control.

Salome looked quickly around the clearing the army was entering, his curiosity piqued by Roland's uncharacteristic apprehension. "Is it safe to make camp?"

"Yes."

"Here?"

"Yes," was the reply, in a tenor more agitated than before. "The forest is fine, too."

Salome glanced sideways at the generally unflappable elf, and then shouted a command in the common language to Leo to stop and make camp. After receiving a nod from the huge knight, he called over four men.

"We don't need an escort," Roland said as the knights approached, again using the tongue that few, if any of them, would understand.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," the elf responded, strained emotion growing in his normally austere eyes. "There is no one to fight."

The Captain dismissed the four soldiers and then rode a good hundred yards into the woods with his trusted friend. Finally away from the rest of his men, his eyes narrowed pensively as he asked the question that had been bothering him since first laying eyes upon the elf in rags. "What the hell is going on, Roland?"

"I have to show you because I can't describe it," Roland said as he pointed his horse in the direction of Dubios. His eyes trained off at the top of the massive wall that peeked portentously out from behind the few leagues of forest they would have to traverse in order to enter it. The whole macabre situation ate at him now as he caught sight of a few buzzards flying in the direction of the city. Glancing back to Salome, he said somberly, "It's in the square."

* * *

Torrie had just finished cleaning up from lunch when she heard a knock on the door. It was hardly suspicious--a light, feminine tap--but still she peeked out the keyhole to be sure the visitor was friendly. Satisfied, albeit puzzled, she lifted the latch to invite her unexpected guest in as the boys looked up from the game they were playing on the floor. 

"Lady Harras," she said as she pulled the door open. "This is a pleasant surprise."

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," the older woman replied as she entered the small flat, carrying a basket on her arm. "But I brought something for you and the children."

Torrie smiled as she accepted the gift. "No, of course not. Please, come have a seat and I'll put some tea on." Looking at down at Chris's children, she asked, "You remember Ryan and Geoffrey?"

"Of course, although the last time I saw them was a few years ago at the Harvest Festival." Ardeth lowered herself to the couch as Torrie gave a quick bow and then stepped out of the room. With a smile towards the boys, she added, "You two have grown quite a bit since then."

Geoffrey tilted his head in interest at the woman as he gazed at the brace on her right leg that the hem of her dress didn't cover. Frowning at his brother's ill-mannered curiosity, Ryan stood up and gave a slight bow of his head. "Hello, milady. Is Jael with you?"

"Ah, not this time, I'm afraid. But maybe Torrie can bring you over to the house to see him."

"I'd like that."

"I'm sure he would as well."

"I wish you'd come to the Festival again. It was a lot of fun when Uncle Borus taught us how to play Hazard."

Ardeth's smile faded just a bit, recalling the incident that had caused Borus a much deserved scolding by both boys' fathers. "It was certainly an interesting lesson for children, that's for sure."

"I hope you can come this year. I want to show him the fort Geoff and I built out behind the barn."

"Oh that sounds like fun. What do you do in the fort?"

"Lots of stuff, but we spend a lot of time keeping Charlotte out. She's the girl from down the street that always wants to play. She's annoying. Mother makes me let her play anyway, though."

Ardeth grinned at the boys as she envisioned Chris chiding them for ostracizing the little girl. "You may not think that she's annoying when you're older."

Ryan's dark eyes grew sad and he looked down at the ground. "That's what Father says."

Before Ardeth could offer her condolences, Geoffrey grabbed his older brother's arm. Giving a suspicious look at the woman, he whispered, rather loudly, into a cupped hand meant for Ryan's ear. "Who is she?"

Ryan shoved him off. "Don't be rude, Geoff!" Turning back to the woman he bowed again. "I'm sorry, milady. My brother is too young to remember you."

The woman smiled pitifully at the two children, and gently reintroduced herself to the younger child. A moment later, Torrie returned with the tea, and Ryan quickly moved the game to the spare bedroom, knowing the adults probably wanted some privacy.

"Thank you so much for the bread and cheese," Torrie said as she sat down and then began to pour the tea. "It smells delicious and we'll have it tonight at supper."

"You're welcome," Ardeth answered as she accepted the cup. "It's least I could do. Is there anything else you need?"

After taking a sip Torrie, smiled, a harried blush on her face. "Ah, not at the moment, but I appreciate the offer, milady."

"Well if you do, just send word," Ardeth said. Wanting to avoid any further embarrassment on the part of the younger woman, she changed the subject. "I just came from the store, and I must say, Lord Robert seems lost without you."

A slight grin crossed Torrie's face as she thought of her good-natured but occasionally absent-minded employer. "I hope he hasn't lost his keys in the wine cellar again."

"No, but he did ask me to remind you that he'd love for you to bring the children to the house and come back to work if you'd like."

"I do miss the store," Torrie said quietly as she took another sip of the tea. "Although I think that being away from there is a good thing for the time being. You wouldn't imagine the rumors I hear about myself when I'm at work."

"Oh?" Ardeth gave a kindly smirk as she placed her cup down on the table. "I can only guess...the _scandal_ of a common woman being courted by a Councilor!"

Torrie laughed at the feigned surprise the woman put on her predicament. "Yes, that's it."

Ardeth grinned. "I've been there. You should have heard the stories that the people during the war produced about Salome and I. Can you imagine, a titled, wealthy knight being interested in a poor, common, and crippled woman? The shame of it all!"

Torrie chuckled. Although she didn't know Lady Harras that well, she was definitely enjoying her company. "Indeed. Last I heard, I was 'too pretty' for a 'broken down useless man.'" She sighed as she replaced her teacup on the saucer. "I think it bothers me the most to hear others slight Louis. It would be one thing if they were just calling me a moneygrubber or something equally as ridiculous, but I take it to heart when some idiot friend of Jared's insults him right in front of me."

"And that shows that you really love him"

Torrie felt her face flush. "Yes, I suppose it does, but I wish I had the courage to say something to those people who are always in the store. Louis says to ignore it, that's just petty gossip, but--"

"You are offended," the woman finished for her. "I know how you feel. Looking back, I think the thing that hurt me most was hearing some of the people at Brass Castle actually say that Salome didn't deserve to marry because he was 'too boring.' That's because they only see him in his official capacity, and when he's working, he _can _be boring."

Victoria laughed again. "I guess we're all boring at work, though."

"Indeed," Ardeth said with a smile. Taking a more serious tone she offered the young woman some advice. "Torrie, whatever you do, don't listen to those people. Many are quick to judge from a distance, but few know the truth behind anyone else's relationships."

"I'll remember that," Torrie replied. "And thank you."

Before Ardeth could offer any more advice, a loud, thunderous rap fell upon the door to the flat. Torrie rose to answer it, but she hadn't even taken a step or two when it came again, threatening to smash the door from its hinges.

"Who is it?" She called, now terrified of whomever it could be.

"Marshals, ma'am. Open the door."

Although she knew that Marshals banging on the door as if they were human battering rams did not bode well, she obliged them. There stood not one, not two, but _six_ members of the Council's private guard. They were immense men, made only to look larger by the full suits of armor they wore. The one who seemed to be in command of the group lifted the facemask of his helmet and addressed her. "Victoria Maserdon?"

"Yes, that's me," she said, her voice feeling suddenly tiny, as her mind prayed that nothing had happened to Louis.

"Step outside, please, ma'am and keep your hands out in front of you."

She did as she was told, despite the growing dread in her heart.

At seeing this, Ardeth stood up and ambled towards the group. Glaring at the Marshals, she asked tersely, "What do you people want?"

The leader bowed to the Captain's wife, his expression that of surprise at finding such a distinguished member of society in the flat. "Lady Harras, forgive the intrusion—"

She cut him off with quick retort. "You'll earn my forgiveness if you go find some criminals and leave decent people alone."

The large man almost seemed intimidated by the small woman. "But milady, I'm afraid this woman is a criminal."

"What?!" Torrie said, nearly falling to her knees.

"This is ridiculous, get out of here!" Ardeth commanded, desperately trying to imitate the way she'd seen her husband command his knights.

The one in charge spoke with only utmost deference to the woman. "Milady, she's wanted by the Council for treason."

"Treason!?" Torrie gasped as one of the men forced a pair of shackles over her wrists. "I've done nothing, I swear it! I swear it to Loa!"

"Show me the warrant," Ardeth demanded as she held out her hand. "Now."

A man in the back of the group placed the document into the woman's palm and she read it quickly. "Justin Plasser and Keith Drever signed this? This can't be right. They're two of the most moderate people on the Council. It must be a joke--a very sick joke."

"It's not a joke, milady," the leader replied as he gave a bow to her. "We have to go now."

Torrie started to sob as she saw two pairs of terrified eyes in the doorway appear just as the gaggle of men pulled her away. "The children—"

"Don't worry about them," Ardeth shouted, silently cursing the fact she could not keep up with the Marshals.

"Louis," Torrie plaintively called over her shoulder, her hands so weighted under the irons that she could not lift them above her waist. "Please, find Louis!"

* * *

It was the smell that hit Salome first. Before his eyes could even focus upon the ghastly sight in the small square of the city, the stench nearly knocked him from his horse. Death, warmed and rotten forced the knight to pull his scarf up around his nose as he gazed at the landscape that could have easily risen from Hell itself. 

There was blood everywhere, and even the cracks in between the paving stones had filled with it, giving the illusion that the streets were floating upon a river of it. The source for most of this was a pile in the center of the square. There lay scores of bodies, naked, headless, and twisted into a contorted heap of flesh. Around the perimeter, a few dozen heads were impaled upon pikes, their faces frozen into fearsome masks of death. Salome recognized a few of them immediately. They were Percival's men.

But these poor souls' ordeal had not ended with their deaths. No, the indignity of not being buried had attracted scavenger animals and insects. Rats scurried around the bodies, flies buzzed and vultures bold enough to brave the gore perched atop the pile, as if guarding their find.

Many words came to the Captain's mind as he finally began to realize this wasn't a nightmare. But, before he could speak of the inhumane and despicable treatment of these soldiers, his stomach expressed its own disgust at the sight and stench. While the aftermath of battle generally didn't bother the man hardened by nearly thirty years in the army, this time, it reached far beyond the realm of ordinary. Embarrassed at the sudden loss of control and composure, he leaned far over the side of his horse's neck.

"If it is any consolation," Roland said gently, as he kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead. "The same thing happened to me when I first saw it."

Wiping his mouth, and recovering his nose with the scarf, Salome sat back on his mount. "I cannot even fathom what sort of people we are dealing with now."

The elf pointed towards something that shouldn't have blended into the background as well as it did. "Perhaps not, but I believe that is one of their weapons, and what caused our friends to meet a quick death."

They rode a few yards closer to the simple structure as it seemed to smirk at them from above, its metallic lip still stained with the ruddy remnants of its last meal. Closer they went, ever so slowly, holding the horses in a near-stilted walk, as if afraid the device would suddenly come alive and strike them dead.

Still, morbid curiosity called them towards it. When he was just a few feet away, Salome glanced up at the enormous blade with its rope tethers and then down at the stockade. "It's a mechanical butcher's block," he said, as fury rose within him. "There was no battle. This was an execution!"

Roland just nodded. He'd already struggled against the salvo of emotions that his friend was now fighting, and knew it was best to just let it run its course. His eyes caught sight of an arrow that had been shot into the far timber that supported the blade. Resting just at eye level, it pinned a piece of paper to the disgusting contraption. The elf rode over to it, leaned up, and grabbed it, nearly dropping a small metal ring that adorned the shaft of the bolt.

Frowning upon closer inspection of the items, he trotted his horse around to the other side of the machine and offered them to Salome, who took the ring and held it in his gloved palm. It was slim, silver, and definitely cut to fit a man's finger. With a heavy sigh he rolled it onto its edge for the confirmation he feared. Inscribed on the inside of the simple ring, as expected, were the initials PRF.

After a moment, he put the ring into a tiny pocket on his sleeve and said despondently to the elf, "When we get back to camp, send someone for Lady Chris. Her mission is pointless now."

Roland shook his head, concern and worry showing on his face. "She won't come back. She'll want revenge."

"Then I'll get it for her!" His gray eyes flashed with abhorrence and he grit his teeth in an uncharacteristic show of unrestrained rage. "I told her once to use my life as she saw fit. If she wants revenge, it's hers!"

"And what shall I tell Ardeth when you sacrifice yourself for Chris?"

"That I died fulfilling an oath."

"Very well," Roland replied, knowing arguing with Salome at this point was futile. When they were back at camp and the demons that infested this hell behind them, he was sure the man would be back to his normal calculating and rational self.

"Let's go," Salome said as he spun his horse around with a rough jerk of the reins.

"What about this?" The elf held out the peculiar parchment that had been pinned with the arrow.

Not really interested in the paper, as his mind was with Chris and what he'd say to her _this_ time, but knowing he should read it, he turned the animal around again. Taking the parchment from the other, he opened it, scanned it, and his desire to avenge the deaths of the men multiplied ten-fold. As if the scene before them wasn't horrible enough, the enemy had now taken to deriding them. The paper that had been so carefully placed contained a terrible, inane rhyme that was sickeningly reminiscent of a Zexen cradlesong. Written in a left-tilted hand, and signed only with the symbol of a bulls-eye, it contained the following verse:

_Not long ago and not far away  
There was an army from Zexay  
Fought they did and fought they might  
But lost some men one spring night_

_Two hundred and one heads did fall  
But that's not the saddest part of all  
When given a choice to live or die  
All of those soldiers chose to defy_

_Many screamed and many cried  
A few lost control as they died  
This didn't stop me from chopping heads  
I've left you their bodies, so bury your dead_

_You won't hear me repent for this crime  
So place the blame for this on Fraulein  
For had he accepted my gracious bid  
His men might not ended up as they did_

Salome crumpled the paper with one hand and threw it to the ground in disgust, cursing aloud at the audacity of the note and its author. He was still incensed by it all and eager to find these disgusting excuses for human beings that had murdered Percival's group. That would have to wait for a few days, though, for there was a pressing matter before him that had to be dealt with immediately. Setting a steely gaze set upon the pile of bodies, he gave an order, even if Roland was the only one there to hear it. "We will bury our men and offer the proper rites. This is Zexen land now, and we must keep it so in their honor."

* * *

Louis cursed as he nearly fell down the staircase that led to the caliginous underground dungeons encased in the city's wall. The stairs were stone, steep, and twisted into a convoluted spiral that wound down one of the fortification's towers. He tried to count, remembering that every eleventh was an extra short "trip step" but couldn't get his mind to focus on the task as his body teetered on each uneven, slippery tread. All he cared about was getting down the blasted thing, and he was determined to do so, despite its attempts to hamper his progress. 

Gripping the rope that hung down the center of the staircase shaft with one hand, and trying to balance himself with just one crutch, he made some progress, but it was still taking too long. With less than six steps to go, he paused and rested against the wall for a moment, the thought of Torrie trapped in this place strengthening him to finish the chore of getting down the horribly crafted stairs.

Once he made it to the bottom, he took a minute to catch his breath. The air was dank, and what little light was provided came from a few oily torches hung on the wall. Straw was thrown on the floor, and this provided just another obstacle for the young Councilor. A large wooden door flanked by two guards consumed most of the landing. He cautiously navigated his way over it, and addressed neither of them in particular. "I've come to see a prisoner."

The one on the left was a dark haired man with a face full of boils. He sneered at Louis. "What's a fancy man like you doing down here?"

"I'll try this one more time," Louis said with no trace of patience left in his voice. "I am Councilman Keeferson. Open the damn door."

The shorter man, of stout build and fair hair, was still greasy, if not a bit more respectful to his superiors. "Yes, milord," he said as he obeyed the order.

Dragging himself down the small corridor of iron barred cells, he glanced around at some of the disgusting people that Zexen had chosen to confine to the place while they were forgotten, or in some cases, until they were executed. In the cell nearest the door was a man who had slain his wife in a jealous rage. Louis remembered that one well, for he had been one of the two councilors to sign the arrest warrant. As he walked past more miscreants towards the pitiful sobs that tore at his heart, the prisoners glared, shouted, and one even threw something at him.

A few more steps, another barrage of insults from one of the men down there, and he saw her. Sitting on the narrow, rough plank of wood that was chained from the wall and constituted her bed, she had curled her legs up under her dress and defensively drawn them to her chest. Leaning on the bars, he called her name and she looked up with fresh tears on her face.

She dashed across the tiny space to reach for him. "Louis! Oh, Louis!"

Holding her as best he could through the barrier, he whispered, "Thank the Goddesses you're all right."

"They're trying to accuse me of treason!" She said, her voice faltering over the words.

"I know. Lady Ardeth told me."

Her eyes opened wide as she realized in her terror that she had forgotten her most important charge. "The children!"

"They're fine," he whispered as he touched her cheek and shot a nasty look to the man in the cell next to her who was making an obscene gesture at them. "She took them to her house."

She didn't fight her tears as she held his hand to her face, but to her surprise he pulled back. Turning away, he called, "Guard!"

"Louis?" She whispered, completely confused at the sudden rejection.

The chubby blond man appeared and started walking towards them. Louis called him again, and the man actually tried to move his large body a bit faster. "Yes, milord?"

"Open the cell," the councilor commanded.

"I cannot let the prisoner out, milord."

"Don't let her out," Louis said with a green-eyed glare of irritation. "Let me in."

Not even a minute later, a much relieved Torrie all but threw herself into his arms as the cell door clicked and locked behind them. "I was afraid..."

"Afraid of what, my dear?" He asked with a grin as he led her to the wooden plank and sat down, thankful for a moment to rest.

"Never mind," she whispered as she nestled into his arms. "Never mind."

He ran his fingers her hair soothingly, and then brought the conversation into hushed tones. "I tried to convene an emergency meeting, but no one would second the motion. I'm sorry. I tried..."

She put a finger to his lips. "It's not your fault, but I'm not surprised. Did Lady Harras tell you who signed the warrant?"

"No," he said as he withdrew from her touch just long enough to remove his wooden leg. "Who was it?"

"Plasser and Drever."

"That can't be right. They are two of my closest allies."

She rubbed her forehead wearily. "I know."

Louis pulled her closer to him and kissed her wet cheek. The only two men left on the Council that he had respected were now quickly becoming his worst enemies. _Only cowards use tactics such as this one to convince a man, _he thought. The question rising within him now was _what_ did they want from him?

Laying her head on his shoulder she asked a somber question. "So, I'm in here until the beginning of next week then?"

"Yes, but you won't be alone."

"What do you mean by that?"

He took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "I'm staying with you. There's no way in hell that I'm leaving my lady in this place alone."


	10. Chapter Nine

_Disclaimer: Konami owns Suikoden and its characters, Straya owns Ardeth and the rest belong to me.  
_

**  
Missing in Action  
Chapter Nine**

**

* * *

**

Louis negotiated his way up the staircase of the Council Building. He hadn't washed or changed clothes in four days and it certainly showed, but he didn't care. He had spent those days in that filthy cell with Torrie, planning exactly what to say to the idiots who'd put her there. It had taken him nearly an hour to climb out of the tower, and another twenty minutes or so to hail a cab willing to carry him. Two drivers had ignored him—likely because of his grubby appearance. The one that finally did stop clearly believed him to be mad when he had insisted that he was indeed a Councilor.

Finally at the top of the curved, carpeted staircase, he headed to the office of his one time friend, Justin Plasser. The door was open, so he entered.

The office was well appointed and quite a bit neater than his own. He found Plasser sitting behind the intricately carved mahogany desk, with the distasteful Arthur Flynnic standing across.

Louis had never liked Flynnic. He was a scrawny man with a rat-like nose and curly, red-blond hair. He was spoiled and had never worked an honest day in his life. Arthur had slithered into his seat on the Council years ago and somehow always managed to get re-elected despite his unpleasant nature and shady practices.

Upon taking notice of the former knight, the two men stopped talking. Arthur sneered, his sardonic voice creeping along his words. "I'd heard you've been slumming lately, Keeferson, but I didn't realize it was quite this bad."

"Get out," Louis said, his voice forcibly held back in a low, even tone. "Get out now."

"Why should I leave?" Arthur asked with flippant wave of his hand. "It is you who is in need a bath. Although I suppose this is just representative of the company you've been keeping."

"I'm sorry," Louis snarled. "I didn't realize that the tone of my voice led you to believe that was a suggestion. Now get out!"

"Civility just flew out the window," Flynnic said, trying to hide his nervousness as he made his way towards the door. "I will see you later, Justin."

Louis smirked as the door clicked closed behind the arrogant man. It made him feel strong knowing that these days he could intimidate an enemy without a blade but with a few simple words.

Glaring at Justin, Louis held his rage back behind clenched words and half-hooded eyes. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Excuse me?" Plasser asked as he got to his feet and tried to busy himself with shuffling some papers on his desk.

The feigned ignorance only caused Louis' fury to erupt. "There are no excuses for you—sending an innocent woman to that horrible place just to spite me!"

"To spite you? No, the evidence was--"

"Evidence? What evidence?" Louis asked, as he slowly moved closer to his former friend.

"A paper," Justin said, pushing his spectacles up his nose and working his way around the desk to keep some distance between himself the approaching man. "A note sent through your _friend_ from Brass Castle to her employer."

"I did that," Louis snapped as he adjusted his crutches. "If you want to arrest someone, it should be me."

Justin shook his head and gave a patronizing glare to the former knight. "It isn't becoming for a man in your position to take up with such a woman."

"Shut up! I don't know what happened to you, Justin. You used to be rational, but now you are just like the others. So I'll tell you what I tell them! Who I spend my time with is none of your damn business!" He took a long breath. "Besides, this isn't about her--it's about you."

"About me?" Plasser asked quietly, trying to quash the rising level of anger in the room. "I'm your friend, Louis. I just want you to realize the consequences of your actions."

Louis followed Justin behind the desk, unfazed by other's insipid attempt at trying to calm him. "You're not my friend! I can't believe you have the arrogance to assume that I am going to forgive this!"

"Louis, taking the blame for something you didn't do—especially such an offense—is political suicide."

Now just mere feet from Justin, and no longer obstructed by the desk, Louis looked right into the other man's eyes. Not even holding back a smidgen of the hatred in his voice he snapped: "I didn't ask for your asinine advice! I am confessing to the crime so you can release her."

"I can't do that," Plasser said, his voice suddenly distant. "The issue was already addressed at an emergency session yesterday."

"What? No one informed me of this!"

"We sent word to your house, but you were not there."

"Of course I wasn't there! I wasn't going to just leave Torrie alone in that dungeon with rapists and murderers!"

"It doesn't matter," Justin replied, feigning a deep interest in a piece of paper as he again tried to inch away. "There wasn't anything you could do for her. The evidence was too solid."

"And I'm telling you that I did it!" Louis snarled as he slammed his left hand on the desk, dropping one of the crutches in the process. "Why won't you listen to me!"

With a pitiful shake of his head, Justin spoke. "Don't lose your head over some peasant girl. I know you may not be as desirable as some young men, but surely your assets are worth enough to find a suitable wife."

Louis was not a violent man nor one to lose his temper in such short order. But after four days of that horrible place, four days of seeing Torrie in misery, four days to reconsider his friendships, and now Plasser's outright insults, it was over. His blood could only boil so high until it spilled out into visceral rage. Feeling his left hand curl, his body adjusted his balance on the opposing crutch. And then, not even a second later, his fist made crushing contact with Justin's nose.

The blow was expertly placed. Justin's glasses flew from his face and landed in a mess of shards on the floor. Blood streamed from his now crooked nose, marring his face and shirt. His hands jumped to nurse the injury, but disbelief held in his expression.

Louis shouted at his former friend, "I can't believe you turned into just another greedy, soulless bastard! You were one of the few people on this damn Council that I thought cared about the people more than himself!"

Justin shook his head as he produced a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and pinched it to his nose.

Louis just stood there with his fist still clenched and blood on his hand. He had no more words for this idiot.

A few moments passed in silence, and then Justin spoke in a hushed voice, his nose still bleeding badly. "This is bigger than you and I and our petty problems, Louis."

"What's bigger? We serve the Zexen people, do we not?"

Plasser coughed as the blood ran down his throat and then whispered, "Louis, I'm sorry about what I said and what they did to Torrie. I wish I could help you, but I can't. You're about to be given a choice, just as I was."

"What choice? What are you talking about?"

"I can't give you too many details about my particular situation, not here, not now," Justin said as he glanced nervously at the door. "But I can show you the options you have." He opened a drawer of the desk and began to search for something.

"Can't we fight them?" Louis whispered. "We've beat the corruption before."

Justin just shook his head and finally released his nose from the handkerchief. Keeping the conversation in hushed tones, he continued, "Not here. And it's not just local corruption."

"How do you mean?"

Plasser bent over to retrieve his broken glasses. "I can't tell you that here."

"What can you tell me?"

After a moment of careful contemplation, he spoke in a shaking voice, "They played Drever, too."

"Played him?"

Justin glanced at the door and said loudly, "You're a fool, Keeferson!" Then he leaned over and whispered to Louis: "Threatened to shut down his family's armor shop and execute his parents for treason. Said they had proof of shipments to Tinto."

"And the rest?"

"I'm guessing all of them just sold their souls to the highest bidder."

"Dammit!" Louis shouted before sitting on the sofa and bringing his voice down. "Doesn't make for very good odds."

"No it doesn't. There's more, but I can't say it within these walls."

"Fair enough. Send me word when we can talk. I'll meet you wherever you'd like."

Plasser nodded. Then he held out two pieces of parchment and spoke up again to make sure that his voice carried. "Your choice is thus: sign this one, or I am to deliver the other to the prison warden."

"And if you don't?" Louis asked with a raised brow.

"That is not a viable option, Keeferson!" Justin shouted before again whispering. "As I said, they have me over a barrel as well, and I will do whatever it takes to protect my children, as I'm sure you would, given the choice."

Louis' heart ripped in half as he read the options. The dilemma presented to him was cruel, and just thinking of each outcome wrenched his stomach. Death to his love or death to his country? Knowing the others counted on him being torn between the two, he cursed them aloud. After a long, drawn, breath, he found his resolve to battle all of the demons, and said a silent prayer to Loa begging her for guidance in doing so.

* * *

"My friends and fellow Zexens," Salome called from astride his horse, gathering the attention of his army. Flanked by Roland and Leo, he glanced around at the men. They were tired but the city was finally looking more like a town and less like a morgue. Percival's men had all been given a proper burial, the streets had been cleaned, and it was finally time to say a few words of farewell before preparing for their return to Brass Castle. 

After a few moments of shifting metal, a somber silence fell over the clearing in the forest. Satisfied that the men were now listening, the captain continued. "As you know, the past three days we have worked hard to bury the men that we lost to a cruel and faceless enemy. Never before have I seen such ruthless and callous treatment of soldiers. I now ask that we hold a moment of silence in honor of these brave fathers, sons, and brothers who died for Zexen at the hands of a monster."

The men snapped to attention, and held their statures silently until Salome spoke again. "Thank you. Let us all offer a prayer to Loa that the souls of our comrades will be welcomed into her kingdom, reunited with their ancestors and blessed to see their loved ones from above."

In unison all of the knights of the Zexen army raised their weapons and shouted, "In Loa's name we pray!"

After a heavy breath, the captain lowered his mace. "I want you all to know that I have already sent word to Zexay about the fate of our friends--"

Before Salome could finish the sentence he was interrupted by a swishing sound, followed by a harsh pain that shot up his left leg. His horse forgot its training and reared, but did not manage to unseat him. Then, not even an instant later, before he could shout a command, before he could react to the pain in his leg, before the horse could return it's forelegs to the ground, before he could even glance down to see how bad the wound was, another bolt flew. Raising his weapon in a futile attempt to deflect the blow, he cursed as the arrow struck him just below the opposing shoulder.

The force from the second bolt knocked him back and forced him to drop the weapon, the sudden shift in his weight further agitating the already distraught horse. He tried to right himself in the saddle, but could not. Resigned to hunch over in agony, he grabbed the horse's mane for support and then glanced down. The first arrow had gone clean through his thigh, the saddle, and into the horse. Blood—human and equine—created in an unsettling pattern as it drizzled down the animal's flank.

Still doubled over on the horse's back, he turned his head and saw the wound on his shoulder. It wasn't bleeding as bad as the other, but it smelled—sort of like sulfur. And, it burned. It burned unmercifully as if someone had poured hot oil into the wound and then set it ablaze. He wanted to rip the bolt out, to stop the hurt and the burning, but knew better.

Again he tried to persuade his body to sit up but it wouldn't cooperate. He felt his hands shaking, and under the leather gloves, his palms sweat. The world seemed to be moving slower, but he still fought the urge to succumb to the pain and just close his eyes.

Watching the scene from his awkward crouched position, it looked as if it were played through a stained glass window. A blur of orange had surrounded him, someone had his reins, and shouted orders were coming from Roland. A curse slipped from his lips, directed against his inability to be of any use and the lack of control he was showing in front of his men.

He couldn't see much, but was determined to keep his eyes open. Focusing on the noises, he tried to follow what was happening, despite the intense distraction of the racking pain.

Somewhere in a distance he couldn't determine, horses galloped away. Armor clanked. Blades were drawn. More shouts filled the air. Angry, vengeful cries from the men melded into a single voice.

"How dare they interrupt a funeral?"

"Kill those cowards!"

"They won't take our Captain!"

"They're in the damn trees!" That was Leo, he thought. "Shoot them down!"

What seemed like eons passed and then arrows flew. Metal shrieked against metal. The thin streaks of light that cast down through the trees reflected off armor in motion. Flesh was met with blades. More screams. Bodies hit the ground with horrid thudding noises. Blood began to cover the thin grass. He heard someone calling his name. No honorifics, just his name. He thought it to be Roland, but wasn't sure.

Pictures began to form in the grass below him. Soft, tranquil images of happier times painted themselves on the green canvas, giving each one a wraithlike glow of color. A quiet moment in his study at home. A ride with his son. A drink with Chris. A party in Zexay. A celebration with Roland following a successful battle. A walk in the garden with Ardeth. The illusions didn't last for more than a moment, but they called to him, tempting him to fall down and join them, but he resisted.

And then there was quiet. The only noises heard were the horses breathing. A moment later, the knights began to relax. The battle, if it was even long enough to be called that, was over—and they had won.

The circle of knights that had surrounded him opened up to let Roland and Leo through. Salome tried to sit up again, but could not. Tasting blood in his mouth he spit it out, and then turned his head just enough to face his trusted officers who walked over the images in the grass.

"We won. We killed all of them," Leo said, his voice sounding strangely distant. "Some of the men are searching the bodies now. I told them they could keep anything they find."

Salome dropped his reins. His arms hung on the sides of the horse's neck, and the grass was looking closer and more inviting now.

Roland sighed as he pulled some cloth strips from his saddle bag and then dismounted. "We have to get you off that horse."

Salome barely gave a growl in response.

Looking closely at the wounds, Roland spoke in an unusually cheery voice, "They're not mortal, but I bet they hurt like hell. We'll get you to a surgeon and you'll be fine. That's a good thing because I don't want to be the one to explain these holes in you to Ardeth. She'd likely kill me for letting you get yourself into such a mess! Better you to fight that battle, my friend."

He forced a tiny smile at the elf's attempt at humor.

"I'm going to break off the fletching, then lift and slide your leg off the shaft," Roland said before looking back up at Salome with a grimace. "It's going to hurt, but it's the best way to get you to a medic."

"Do it," he whispered, mustering all of his strength to form the two simple words.

"Hold the horse's head tighter," Roland said to the knight who had been gripping the wounded animal's reins. "Whatever you do, don't let it throw its head."

"Yes, milord."

Leo scratched his chin. "Maybe we should kill it first."

"No," Roland replied. "I don't want it to fall on him."

"Twitch it," Leo said as he removed his belt. "At least that'll keep it distracted."

Salome couldn't see them wrap the strap of leather around the horse's upper lip, but a moment later, he felt the animal slightly relax underneath him. Preoccupied by the annoying pressure on its face, the horse seemed to forget about its other pain.

Roland turned to someone standing in front of the horse. "Ready?"

"Yes, milord."

Salome braced himself, but when the arrow was broken, and his leg moved, the pain was just too much. Roland was fast, and attempting to be gentle, but dragging the shaft of the arrow through his muscle was excruciating. Between the torture of the wounds and the dizziness he could no longer fight to stay awake. Letting out a pitiful whimper, he closed his eyes and finally gave into the bliss of unconsciousness.

* * *

Torrie was cold. Even the jacket Louis had given her wasn't providing much warmth. It was far too big for her, but it was the only thing bringing any sort of comfort while he was away. She didn't want to admit it, but her day without him had been long and frightening. The man in the cell next to her did nothing all day but harass her to the point of tears. He was vile, disgusting and seemed to get a perverted pleasure from seeing her reactions. His insults and filthy suggestions she could ignore, but when he ripped his pants off and rubbed himself against the bars, she was genuinely terrified.

The sudden drop in temperature told her that the sun had set, even if she was well below ground. The guards had changed for the night, and the evening portion of bread and tea had been brought. She didn't feel like eating it, even though she was quite hungry. As she leaned down to pick up the tray, the disgusting man next to her reached between the bars and snatched her wrist. She dropped the food as she fought against him. His grip was strong, so she turned to face him and push herself away with her free hand. That was her mistake. He grabbed onto the front of her dress and tore it, exposing her breasts. He giggled—a shrill, satanic giggle—as she covered herself and ran back to the bench.

Now, hours later, she was tired and hungry but she would not rest. Louis had promised her that he would return after the Council meeting, and while she didn't doubt him, she feared something was wrong. It was late. Too late. What if he had given up on her? What if they had arrested him, too? What if he had realized that no matter what he did, the other Councilors would just continue to harass him about his choice in a lady? She grit her teeth in anger at her own thought. She had nothing to be ashamed of! She might not be a titled woman, but she certainly was not a whore! And those who worry about such trivial matters as one's social standing shouldn't be paid so much mind! She loved him, and he loved her. Wasn't that all that really counted?

Just as she found a bit of joy in thinking of all the time she'd spent with Louis, the disgusting man next to her threw the contents of his chamber pot into her cell. Her stomach retching from the smell, she tucked her legs up under her dress and wrapped her arms around her knees. Biting her lip in an effort not to sob, she said a silent prayer that Louis and the children were well. Even when Louis was with her, Ryan and Geoffrey had constantly been in her thoughts these past few days. Though she knew they couldn't have found a better temporary home than with Lady Harras, she often pondered what their future would hold.

Years ago, when her mother had died, Percival had done his best to care for her. She was well fed and loved, but there were just some things a man couldn't provide for a little girl. And when she moved to Zexay to live with Borus' family, despite Lord Robert's insistence that she was part of his family, she still felt like a servant.

_But Ryan and Geoffrey at least have each other_, she reminded herself as she mulled their fate. Even if Percival were dead, and Chris never made it back, those two little boys would find their strength between themselves. Sure, they'd be loved and cherished by any number of their parents' friends, but she hoped it would never come to that.

She thought of the document Louis had drafted that would give him custody of the children in case the unthinkable happened. She hated that blasted thing because although it served to protect the children, it felt like a bad omen. Still, when she had been asked, she carefully penned her name in witness just under Lord Salome's and watched as Louis stamped his seal at the bottom.

Thinking about signing the wretched paper brought something to mind. A tiny smile crossed her lips as she recalled something Percival once said to her when she was still a child. It was a simple thought, and one she really didn't understand at the time, but now she embraced it. _"Never cast your lot with omens as Sadie is too wise to send them to us. We must make our way, and only turn to her for guidance of our own decisions; not beg her for heralds."_

"Missy!" A crude voice with a terrible stutter called, interrupting her thoughts. "Get up, Missy!"

Glancing up, she saw the warden. He was an older man with a bald head and missing teeth. His clothes hung off his gaunt frame and he seemed to sneer uncontrollably when he spoke.

The warden slipped a key into the lock of her cell and pushed it open. "Well now, Missy! Fancy girl like you—what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?"

"Excuse me?" Torrie asked as she cautiously dropped her feet to the ground and pulled the jacket over the torn bodice of her dress.

"Get up, Missy! Your time has come!" The warden said, shaking the shackles he held in his free hand.

"My time for what?" She gasped, fearing the worst.

"Come on! Don't make me get the guards, Missy!"

Rising to her feet, Torrie sighed as she made her way towards the door. So this was it. This was the end. Whatever Louis had tried had failed. She just wished they'd let her say good-bye to him. Would they even grant the last request of an accused traitor? She doubted it and dejectedly held out her hands as the tears started to fall.

The rough man savagely wrapped the shackles around her wrists. "Stop your crying, Missy!"

He led her out of the dungeon and up the tower's spiraling staircase. She moved slowly, not only because of the dread that followed her, but the precarious and uneven steps were made more dangerous when seen through tearful eyes. Her wrists were aching by the time they made it to the top, but suddenly that small pain was not important.

Leaning against the wall of the warden's room was her hope—Louis. Cleaned and dressed, he smiled at her as he adjusted his weight on his crutches. With just a raised eyebrow he glared at the crotchety warden.

"I'm sorry, milord," the warden stammered, fumbling to remove the shackles. "Just a precaution we take with all of the prisoners."

"Right, because she's so dangerous," Louis replied, sarcasm percolating his words.

The weights were gone and a moment later Torrie was free. She rushed straight for the comfort of Louis' arms. Trying not to shed more tears, she buried her face in his chest, and held him as if she couldn't let go.

He brushed her dark curls soothingly and whispered, "I'm sorry I didn't go down myself. I feared it would only slow your release. Are you all right?"

She nodded slightly, but didn't say anything as she clutched him, tears of relief trickling down her dirty face.

"I have a coach waiting," Louis said as he gently released her. "It's very late. Let's get you home."

Arm in arm, they walked out of the prison and into the dark street of Vinay del Zexay. The town seemed dead; there wasn't any noise nor movement and the sliver of a moon barely cast shadows. Waiting there in the silence was a small hansom cab driven by a young man and pulled by a well bred horse. Louis opened the door of the carriage for her, and she climbed in. It took him a few moments to do the same, but he rejected any offer of help.

"Driver!" Louis called as he leaned out the window of the cab. "To my home, quickly."

The carriage started to move, but Torrie was hesitant to lay her head on his shoulder. "Are you sure you want me there?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Looking at him firmly she said, "This is because of me, Louis."

"No," he replied with a touch to her cheek. "This is due to the cowardly actions of a Council who are selling out their own country."

"What?"

"It's no matter. Don't bother yourself with it right now. I'll tell you more when the time is right and when I gathered more information."

"Louis--"

"No, please, forget about everything. You are what I'm concerned with at the moment. Are you well? I'm sorry this took so long."

"I'm fine," she said warily, disliking the fact that he was dodging the subject. "I suppose we should pick up the children."

He brushed her matted hair from her face. "I think Ardeth can watch them for one more night. Besides it's late. I'd hate to wake them."

She sighed. "I feel bad imposing on other people."

"Don't--not this time at least. You need some time to recuperate from your ordeal. Stay at my house tonight."

"Do you think that's…appropriate?"

"How would it not be?"

She took his hands. "I just fear what other things the Council will do to you."

"Don't worry about them," he said before giving her a kiss on the forehead. "As I said, tonight, you are my only concern."

Smiling at him, she replied, "All right, then."

"Good! I'm having a special meal made for you, and I bought you a new dress. I hope you like it. I admit I'm not an expert on women's clothing."

She giggled, and then pulled him closer, "Thank you, Louis. I don't know where I'd be without you."

"I could say the same for you, my love," he whispered before bestowing a tender, yet passionate kiss on her lips.

* * *

Kylan smirked at the latest communication from one of her contacts. Things were going so well. She would have said it was perfect, if she had believed that such a state of being existed. Five years in the making, and it was finally going to pay off. Still, she felt the need to cause a little more grief for her prisoner, so she sent for him and a bottle wine.

Two of her men brought him up from the galley where he had been assigned to work. Although his hair was matted from the salt in the air, and his clothes rumpled from wear, he was still attractive, and held a grave defiance in his eyes as he looked at her.

"Ah, my dear Andrew," she said as she motioned for the others to leave. "I was afraid we'd lost you to the hole, but then I realized you were just too stubborn to die."

He said nothing.

She kept her voice pleasant, musical even as she waved him into the chair opposite her. "I hope you are enjoying the galley. I learned a great deal about you from my client, and they did tell me that you were quite the cook. From what I hear it's the only discipline in that you outclass your wife!"

Again he just glared at her, but took a seat.

She poured the wine into two glasses and placed one in front of him. "Drink."

He looked away.

"Don't refuse my hospitality, Andrew."

He still didn't accept the drink.

"You're an obstinate one, aren't you? Ah well, more for me," she said as she drank from his glass. "Now, I have something to tell you."

"What is it?" He asked, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"You can speak! I almost feared I'd turned you into a mute!"

His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"Well then," she said quite flippantly. "I killed your friend Salome Harras. Nothing personal, mind you, Andrew. Just business."

He raised an eyebrow at her in disdain, "Why do you tell me this?"

"Well, that's not what I really wanted to tell you but I figured you should know. My men received orders to get rid of him. And they did, rather painfully as I understand it." She ran her finger around the rim of the glass with a smarmy grin. "I will say that his service record was quite an interesting read, though."

Percival looked at her skeptically. "How could you get a service record?"

"I have my ways."

"I'm sure you do, but I don't care to hear about them."

She ignored his impudence and gave him a smirk. "You don't curse me for killing your precious captain? Or maybe you don't care because I've heard some interesting things about him and your beloved wife."

"I will mourn my friend in private," he said fighting to keep his voice as steady as possible.

"Fine," she said, getting up to circle around him. "You hate me, don't you?"

"Your lack of regard for human life is despicable."

"That's ironic coming from you—a man who kills people to make a living. We're essentially the same you know."

"I am nothing like you!" He snarled before getting to his feet.

"Yes you are. Whether or not you admit it doesn't matter to me." Putting a hand on his anger-heaved chest, she leaned into his face and grinned. "You didn't say you hate me."

"I hate you," he said, his dark, wrathful eyes fixed coldly on hers.

"Good! Now, I have some other news for you, too." She moved back to her chair and took another drink of his wine. "I'm moving the fleet. My other ships are headed to a rendezvous, but we're going to Vinay del Zexay to wrap up some business. During that time, you'll be confined to the brig. Can't have you wandering off!"

He gave a dubious glance but sat back down now that she had his curiosity piqued. "You're going to sail right into Zexay? How could you get landing papers?"

"Easy," she said with a grin as she produced a parchment from inside her shirt. "I'm one of their best traders of wine. And how you Zexens love your wine! See, my papers are here. I'm sure you recognize the seal of my sponsor."

Percival's breath nearly caught in his throat as he saw the stamp of the Redrum family gracing the document that the woman had waved in his face.

* * *

_Author's Note: Much thanks to MercWanderer, SamChan, Harmonian Coconut and Alastair for their help with betaing this chapter!  
_


	11. Chapter Ten

_Author's Note: Special thanks to Mithrigil, Alastair, AJ and MercWanderer for their help with various parts of this chapter._

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Missing in Action  
Chapter Ten  
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Chris was exhausted.

The trip she and Borus had made to Caleria had been long and she was just thankful it had been uneventful as well. Minutes after their arrival at the inn, the two of them had split up. She badly wanted a bath, and he a drink. They made plans to meet for dinner but she knew he would be late. Even when she was in the army, he never could get back from the tavern on time. She worried about Borus in that regard. Sometimes it seemed like his only friend was a bottle of wine and his love for drinking only grew worse with his age.

It took her no time at all to find the bathhouse in the dusty outpost town. It was a remarkably nice building and the woman running it wasn't very friendly, but certainly efficient. After quickly counting the money placed in her palm, she handed Chris a bucket of hot water, a towel, a sponge, and then directed her to the changing room.

Even the changing area was beautiful. The walls were made of teak and decorated linen curtains hung between stalls to separate them. Chris quickly chose one, removed her clothes, and put on the robe that had been carefully laid out with lavender scented soaps. Folding her clothing into a neat pile worthy of military inspection, she then took the rest of her necessities to the bath room.

Cobalt tiles lined the floor and walls giving a heavenly glow to the steamy room. On the rear wall a mural of the mythical war between Sword and Shield had been painted. Such detail was in it that the runes on both combatants shimmered and almost seemed to glow. Just under the mural were a dozen teak chairs for lounging but all were empty. Everything was vacant—even the huge wooden tub that dominated the center of the room.

To her left as she entered was the washing station. She took her bucket, soaps and sponge and settled down next to an ornate cerulean vase there. Thankful for the privacy, she removed her robe and began to wash her skin and hair. The water was still warm, the sponge was incredibly soft and the sweet scents of the soaps brought only more bliss.

Finally done cleaning, she walked over to the huge tub and sank in it up to her neck. Settling into the hot water the aroma of gardenias tickled her noise. And, in that moment of serenity, she finally smiled and relaxed.

Still wrapped in the stillness of the moment, she didn't open her eyes nor lift her head from the tub's edge as she heard another enter. The newcomer quickly rinsed off at the cleaning area and then approached the tub. As she climbed into the bath, Chris glanced at her through slit eyes. The woman's back was scarred with marks, and her mangled, filthy, red-brown hair was cut short at her shoulders. The sun-darkened skin on her arms and her blistered feet spoke of harsh work or long travel.

Lifting her head up to greet the person properly, she gasped. "Lilly!"

The other woman, now in the water, was equally as startled. "Chris?"

Sitting up, she nodded. "It's good to see you, Lilly."

The brunette sank down into the tub quickly. "What are you doing here?"

"I was going to ask you the same," Chris said with a smile.

Lilly looked around nervously before she started to get out of the tub. "I need to go."

Chris grabbed her arm. "Lilly, please, I need to talk to you."

"What is there to talk about?" She asked, trying to pull out of the other woman's grasp.

"Please, listen to what I have to say--"

"Aren't you just here to capture me?"

"No," Chris said with a firm shake of her head, letting go of Lilly's arm. "I am not. I swear to you, I will not do anything of the sort. I'm completely retired from the army. You know that."

Lilly's eyes narrowed at Chris, but before she could speak, the bath mistress burst in.

"You! Thief!" She shouted, pointing a wiry finger at Lilly. "You owe me for two baths already! Get out of here you mongrel!"

"Please," Chris said, raising a demure hand to the woman. "She is my guest."

"You'll pay her debts?" The bath mistress asked, the wrinkles on her worn face stretching with doubt.

"Of course," Chris replied with a raised brow. "Provided we are allowed to enjoy the bath without any further interruptions."

"And how am I to trust you?" The old smarmy woman asked as she placed an indignant hand on her hip.

With a silent curse of woman's distrust Chris quickly removed the one piece of jewelry she always wore—a slim silver ring from her left hand. Holding it out of the tub she said, "Take this as collateral. I'll pay you as soon as we're done here."

The bath mistress considered the offer for a moment, took the ring, and left.

When she was gone, Lilly sank back down, letting the water hide the bruises and scars on her body. Stretching her arms out on either side of herself, she leaned up against the wall of the tub opposite Chris, but did not meet her eyes. "Thank you."

Chris nodded, stealing a glimpse at her friend's calloused and worn hands. "Thank you for trusting me."

Giving a glare of skepticism, the brunette asked, "Well, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Lilly, are you all right?" Chris said hesitantly, knowing the other woman's pride was crumbling by the moment. "You seem…tired."

Lilly laughed sourly, her sideways glance telling Chris that she didn't believe for a second that the Zexen had traveled so far just to exchange pleasantries. "Tired? Chris, I've been in exile for nearly three years! I lived in Karaya. I've lived here. I've lived in every forgettable town in between! I lived on the streets! I've been beaten by bandits! I had to take a job in a tavern where every perverted man put his hands on me!" She drew a breath. "And that wasn't the worst of it!"

"Lilly, why didn't you come to me? I would have--"

"What, Chris? What would you have done? Did you forget there is a war going on? Did you forget that I am President Gustav's daughter?"

Chris shook her head. "No, but still, I could have done something."

"No you couldn't! Your own countrymen hate you for not keeping that Rune! They took your money, your power, and just about your life! Come on, start thinking rationally, Chris!"

The former knight remained silent, shocked at the force of Lilly's words. Even the solid teak walls seemed to draw back at her anger and the water in the tub felt a notch cooler.

"I'm sorry," Lilly said, taking a long, drawn breath and wiping her face with shaking hand. "I'm so sorry. How are you doing? I haven't seen you since your wedding."

Chris pensively ran a hand through her wet hair before speaking. "All right, I suppose. I have two sons now. I want you to meet them someday."

"_You_ have children?"

"Yes, I do."

Lilly laughed. "I'm sorry, Chris. I just never pictured you with kids."

"It's all right. Neither did I, actually."

"Since I know you didn't just come all this way for a social call," Lilly said. "Tell me what you want from me because I have to get to work."

"Work?"

"I serve drinks in the tavern. I have to eat, you know." She gave a smirk. "I bet you never imagined me doing that."

"Time changes people, Lilly."

"Yeah," she whispered. "It does. But anyway, what do you want?"

Deciding to just come out with her problem, Chris said simply: "Percival went missing after the last battle. I think he was captured."

"I'm sorry, but what does that have to do with me?"

"I'll pay whatever ransom you want for him."

Lilly scoffed. "I don't have him. Maybe you should ask the rebels who killed my father and took over my country."

"I'm sorry, Lilly. I didn't know."

"Well, be sorry all you want, but it won't change things," she said, starting to get out of the tub. "I don't know why you care anyway. I don't need your sympathy and I don't want your pity."

"Lilly, I care because I'm your friend. Now, please, tell me what happened."

The red haired woman took a long breath and dropped resignedly back into the water. "I don't know where to start."

"The beginning?"

"Yeah, I guess that would be a good spot. I'm sure you remember when Zexen soldiers attacked our men at the border seven years ago--"

"Yes, and the treaty was broken."

"It was. And for the first few years, everything seemed normal. There were skirmishes, but it was pretty much if you left us alone, we'd leave you alone." She paused. "My father never wanted an all out war, but it seems now that he had little choice in the matter."

"How's that?"

"The war had left Tinto very poor. No one really had any money because we were having trouble selling the gems we mined. Just about the time we were going to negotiate another truce, an uprising started in my country. The rebels who started it wanted my father removed from the presidency. They said they had proof that he was stealing money from the people. They said that while families were starving, my father was making frivolous purchases." She snorted. "My father may have been many things, but he was not a thief.

"But the people needed to blame someone and the rebels—they called themselves the Locusti—gave them license to believe these lies. They brought in huge numbers of men who were dedicated to winning the war with Zexen, they spread money faster than their lies, and soon my own countrymen couldn't be made to listen to reason." Glancing down into the water, she said flatly, "And then they killed my father."

"Lilly…" Chris said, moving to sit next to her friend in the huge tub.

"They murdered him, Chris. They dragged him into the street and beat him like a dog! Then they locked him up, along with me. Then the rebels built this insane contraption with a huge blade. They made him lay underneath it." She drew a haggard breath and fought the forming lump in her throat. "They made me watch as the blade fell. It sliced off his head and then one of them held it up."

Chris put her hand on the other woman's back, not really knowing what to say.

No amount of determination on Lilly's part was able to keep the tears from falling. In between quiet sobs, she went on: "The others cheered. I wanted to be sick. I have never seen people take such perverse pleasure in killing someone."

After rinsing her face with a few palmfuls of bath water, Lilly leaned her head back on the rim of the tub. Satisfied she had her composure, she sighed. "After that, they locked me up again, but Reed helped me escape. The two of us left Tinto and never looked back. We lived in no name towns for awhile, but eventually the Locusti caught up with us.

"I know I used to be a selfish spoiled brat, but I learned my lesson. I did whatever I could to survive out in those tiny villages. I kept a low profile. I cut my hair and even rubbed dirt into it to make it darker. I worked jobs just for a meal. I…" She closed her eyes. "And I fell in love with Reed. Me, the president's daughter in love with a lowly bodyguard! But I was. You know, when things were terrible, and nothing seemed like it could go right, he always had a way of making me feel better."

Her eyes focused on the mural as her tone grew ever more morose. "The day they found us, Reed held them off so I could escape. He told me to run and not look back, but I did. I saw them beat him. And then they shot him with arrows. He saw me glancing at him, and he frowned. He yelled at me to run. So, I ran. I ran like I'd never run before." She took a wavering breath as she glanced down into the water. "I've heard it said that he kept fighting. He held them back even when by rights he should have been dead. He didn't go down until they slit his throat."

"I'm so sorry," Chris whispered, giving her friend a gentle embrace.

After a long moment, Lilly spoke again. "And then I went to live in Karaya. I had nothing left. Sure, Hugo was kind to me—he always was—but I'll never have my father, Reed, or my country back."

Chris watched her reflection in the water as if she were going to ask it a difficult question. Returning her gaze to the Sword and Shield painted on the wall, she turned to face her friend. "I can't give you the first two, but I think I can help you get Tinto back."

Lilly gave a dry laugh. "With what army? That ugly old man is running it now. You don't just expect him to turn it over it to you, do you?"

"That 'ugly old man' is one of my oldest and closest friends," Chris said, her eyes narrowing slightly at the insult.

Lilly smirked as she rinsed her face again, clearly glad to have the subject shifted from her to Chris and Zexen quilting circle rumors. "From what I've heard he was more than that."

"You heard wrong," she snapped, her glare fixing on Lilly's taunting blue eyes. "I would think you would at least have enough respect for me to know that I didn't sleep my way into the knights! I had to work twice as hard as the men to earn half the credit, and just because Salome accepted me before the others shows only that he is truly a decent man and nothing more!"

Seeming to enjoy the anger the insinuation of impropriety had caused in the generally cool-headed woman, Lilly calmly delivered another barbed blow. "Then why all gossip that I heard when I was in Zexen all those years ago?"

Chris wasn't taking it as a joke. Fuming, she answered the question in a flood of pointed words. "Poison spread by my enemies in an attempt to discredit me. I didn't intimidate them while I was training; it was only when I graduated from the Academy ahead of all the men that suddenly I became a threat. At first, it was just 'she's Wyatt's daughter' but then the words became more vile and much more malicious. And believe me, Lilly, I've heard it all. You name a high ranking officer and I was his mistress." She paused for a moment to catch her breath and wring her sopping hair behind her head. "But none of those lies are true. I earned my rank, fair and square. Though, I will openly admit that I wouldn't have been—I couldn't have been—the knight I was without Salome's help. But I certainly never slept with him."

Lilly was almost giggling at the response she was getting. "I didn't say you were sleeping with him. I just heard that you two were--"

"Dammit, Lilly!" Chris snarled—more in frustration than fury. "The only time the man kissed me was when he gave me away at my wedding!"

Still laughing, Lilly splashed her friend in the face. "Relax, Chris, I'm just teasing you! No need to get so angry."

Chris playfully returned the attack. "This means war, you know!"

The two women circled around each other in the bath, continuing their splash-fight, and laughing like neither had in a long time. When the bath mistress finally peeked in and gave them a harsh look for their childish behavior, they settled down.

"Anyway," Chris said, standing up to be sure the bath mistress was gone. "Lucia wants you to come back to Karaya. She needs your help."

"My help?"

Chris nodded. "She and I both want more information on these Locusti people."

"Lucia doesn't want to be caught up in this mess."

"Yes she does, now that she knows these Locusti people are involved."

"Why, because the two of you think you can stop them?"

"Well, we'll have to get help," Chris said, stretching her arms back out to lean against the edge of the tub once again.

"That's an understatement," Lilly grinned. "Well, you've fought bad odds in the past and won, so I won't put it past you."

"Good, so you'll come with me?"

* * *

Salome was doing better, all things considered. A few hours with the surgeon, some stitches, a bunch of bandages, a little help from a water rune, a good night's sleep, and he was at least upright. Now sitting at the table in his tent, he gently scratched at the wound on his shoulder. The stitches were fresh, and just starting to pull, but the itch felt deeper than that. In an effort to distract himself from this annoyance and the events of the day, he tried eating some fruit, meticulously peeling the rind and making a neat little pile of it on the table in front of him. 

Throughout the entire ordeal with the surgeon, Salome had obstinately refused any medicine or drink that would cloud his thinking later on. This, however, left him with a throbbing shoulder and frail, uncooperative nerves. Still, despite the pain, he knew there wasn't time for hangovers or drug induced sleep, especially not when dealing with such devious opponents. So, despite the throbbing pain in his shoulder and leg, he fought on, trying to focus on the decisions that needed to be made in short order.

Leo sat across from him. He was drinking—he always drank after a battle—and offering some much needed company. Blessedly, he heeded Salome's decision and didn't offer the alcohol. After a long sip of his whiskey he asked, "You told the messenger who went to get Chris not to mention what was in that city, right?"

"Of course."

Leo scratched the three day old stubble on his chin. "You figure out how you're going to tell her?"

"No," Salome replied, pulling the last piece of meat from the fruit. "I thought it was bad enough news to bring once but now she'll hear it again, and this time there really is no room for hope, even if born out of denial."

"Roland or I, or even Borus could--"

Holding up a hand to the other, he said with finality, "No. I'll do it."

Leo gave a nod, a crease of concern following a wrinkle on his weathered face. "I guess that would be best. You always were like a brother to her." He paused, and then gave a long sigh. "You know, thinking back on all that's happened in this past month, I'm beginning to believe that the stars must just be against us."

"I think they're getting some help from associates of our Council or from within our own ranks." Salome said, closing his eyes as another wave of pain flooded his shoulder.

"That's a big accusation," Leo said with a raised brow.

Salome propped his chin up on his good hand and looked directly into the eyes of the other. "Tell me Leo, how would our enemies know that we would return to this place so soon? How would they know to leave a letter, especially out in the elements? And, most importantly, why bother naming Percival in that letter? If they had just wanted to execute our men, then why taunt us?"

Leo shook his head and filled his mug again. "I don't know. Playing politics is your specialty."

A brief silence held as a pretty brunette in her teens entered the tent and wordlessly handed Salome a letter. She gave a slight nod to Leo and then asked the captain quietly, "Milord, shall I prepare some tea?"

Salome nodded to her as he looked at the parchment she had brought. The seal was familiar. It was from Louis.

The girl busied herself with setting up the tea service and carrying it to the table before disappearing out of the tent with the tea pot. A moment later she returned, noticeably agitated and carrying a steaming pot of water.

"What's wrong, Calleigh?" Leo asked.

"The Nasal bird that brought that note is gone."

Salome gave her a gentle look as he asked, "Did you feed it?"

"Yes, milord. Of course," she said, placing the teapot down on the service tray. "But it refused the food and flew away."

"Don't worry yourself with it, Calleigh," Salome said. "It will come back."

Visibly relieved, the girl gave a bow, and then left.

After she was gone, Salome cracked the sealing wax open and began to read.

Leo smirked as the girl walked away. "Leave it to you to find the next Lady Chris and make her your squire."

"She's good at what she does," Salome said, not looking up from the letter.

"Smart, too."

"Yes," was Salome's dull and rather preoccupied answer.

After a long moment, Leo asked, "What's it say?"

Salome looked up and took a sip of tea before paraphrasing the note. "Louis received my letter about the murders here and is working to inform the families. He hasn't told the Council yet, but he plans to at the next meeting. He is also concerned about Lady Chris, and asked if we had sent word to her to return from her mission. And, his contacts in Harmonia are still denying any involvement with this war. So unless they are lying, I'm at a loss for who is really behind it." Pinching his nose, he sighed. "Plus, all letters both he and I have sent to Nash in the past three months have not been answered, which is very unusual."

"Hmm…"

"That's not all. At the very bottom, Louis wrote this: 'The political fires have heated up and burned through Hell's Gate. I do not know how much longer I can beat them out and I implore your help. I must meet with you immediately upon your return from your current engagement. I fear that I need to ask you for your guidance and wisdom.'"

Leo took another sip of his whiskey. "Good excuse to go home to Zexay for a few days, at the least. You could use a break."

"I suppose," Salome said, trying miserably to ignore the ever-present pain in his arm, but not before yielding to a grimace. "But the way this is written, I can tell that something is dreadfully wrong. Louis is never cryptic, but this part of the letter certainly is, and the script looks quite harried."

"You sure you don't want any?" Leo asked lifting the bottle of whiskey from the table to pour more of it. "It'll at least take the edge off."

"I'm sure," he replied with a sigh as he propped his bad arm up on the table.

"All right. Oh, by the by, I let the men eat your horse. Hope you don't mind. It was done for anyway. Good as a friend, better as a meal, I always say."

Salome raised a brow at his trusted comrade, a sardonic grin tracing his lips at the other man's sense of logic. As he reached across the table for a clean piece of parchment on which to write a response, a sudden pain shot up his shoulder and he winced, falling back down into his chair.

Leo's tone grew serious and he stood up to pass the paper to the captain. "Are you sure you're all right? Are you sure you should be up?"

"You sound like Roland," he replied, reaching for the quill and ink with his good hand.

"We're both just looking out for you, my friend." He took a drink and then looked back at the captain. "I'm volunteering to stay."

"Are you sure?" Salome asked. "You're due for leave. I was going to assign Phillip to remain."

"It's the least I can do for Percival, and for Chris. Leave me some good men and we'll keep this city free from those animals."

"I don't doubt you will, Leo. I'll send supplies back to you as soon as we return to the castle. And, thank you."

Sipping their drinks, the two men nearly relaxed—until Roland came hustling into the tent. His stride was long and fervent, and his light eyes smoldering with scarcely controlled rage. He gave a quick salute to Salome and held out the weathered piece of parchment he had been carrying.

"You need to read this. Now."

Salome took the accursed document and unfurled it, the poor quality of paper cracking hauntingly in his hands. Gritting his teeth against a new deluge of pain rushing down his arm, he paused before trying to read. A moment later, his eyes flew down the page and his breath caught in his throat. For years, he feared his enemies would strike against his family, and now the nightmare seemed to live.

_Harvey,_

_Word has reached me that you failed in your simple mission at Dubios. The Captain is not pleased and therefore he orders you to return to Zexen and finish the assignment. His home is never guarded, and the only occupants are elderly servants, a crippled woman, and a child. You should have no problems, and I expect no mistakes. _

_I will meet you in Zexay on the eve of the new moon. Your duty must be carried out before then as we must take advantage of the darkness to move the fleet. Do not be late unless you are dead. You know how that annoys the Captain. _

_Forever Loyal to the Captain,_

_Troian_

"Where did you find this?" Salome demanded, his eyes blazing with fury, the letter still slapping him with confirmation that it hadn't been a battle, but an attempt at assassination.

"It was on one of the men we killed."

"We must send word to Louis—now," Salome said, dipping his pen into the ink and barely hiding his anger and dread from his fellow officers.

Roland sat down and refused Leo's silent offer of whiskey. "It could be a trap."

"Even if it is, we have to take precautions," Salome replied as he pressed the pen to the paper, the pain in his shoulder returning at the small force required to write. Cursing his sudden uselessness aloud, he shoved the parchment and quill onto the ground.

The others did not say a word. Few things could raise the fury of Salome to the point of irrationality, but not being able to perform such a simple and essential task was definitely one of them.

"Perhaps it would be wiser to deliver the message in person," Roland finally said. "The Council will have to take you seriously if you are looking them in the eye." He took a breath and looked directly at Salome. "The same can be said for Ardeth."

"Should we dispatch men to your house?" Leo asked. "They could either stand watch or escort your family to the castle."

"No," Salome said almost instantly with a wry shake of his head. "Ardeth would chase them away and refuse to leave. I'll go. She won't argue as much with me."

Roland raised a brow at him. "Are you sure you'll be able to ride?"

Running a hand over his tired face, he simply said: "I don't have much choice, do I?"

"With all due respect, yes you do," Roland replied. "Let me go in your place. Take some time to rest."

"No," Salome said adamantly. "But I would appreciate your company. The two of us should be able to ride straight through to Zexay in less than three days if we stop only twice to change horses."

Roland's tone was incredibly skeptical. "You don't plan to stop? Even at night?"

"No. We don't have time for that. The new moon rises in only four days."

"What about the Army?" Roland asked, too obviously looking for an excuse not to see his injured friend try and make the ride. "They just can't march themselves back to Brass Castle."

"Phillip and Melville will have to do that."

"Trial by fire, eh?" Leo said with a grin as he finished the last of his whiskey. "When are you going to leave?"

"Right now," Salome replied, forcing himself to his feet despite the constant pain in his arm and leg.

Before Roland could give another protest or excuse, Leo got to his feet. "I'll go find you a horse then."

When the large man was gone, Roland ran a hand through his short lavender hair in obvious disapproval before looking Salome right in the eyes. "Very well. But let me say this: as your subordinate, I'll follow your orders and I'll gladly ride at your side. But as your friend, I think you're an idiot."

* * *

A storm was brewing over the ocean and Kylan apparently didn't plan to avoid it. As the skies darkened and the waves swelled, the cries of the men on the various decks sounded more like whimsical shanties than orders. Despite a looming urgency, Percival didn't look up from his job of gutting fish in the galley. Although his status hadn't changed as a prisoner, cooking did relax him a bit. Besides, the semi-privacy of the galley between meals gave him a few chances to offer devotions to Sadie, which always managed to put his mind a bit more at ease. 

As a rather ribald song broke out in the adjacent dining hall, a grin formed on his face. It was strikingly reminiscent of the ballads he and Borus would sing after a few too many drinks. The sour notes of the sailors kept him smiling as he sliced the head off a particularly large mackerel. As the fish's head bounced off to the side he noticed a hook still in its mouth. An idea struck him. Glancing around to make sure he wasn't being watched, he reached down, pried it out of the animal's head and put it in his pocket.

Suddenly the song in the other room was drowned out by shouts of "all hands" followed by the scurrying of men towards the deck. Percival ignored the cry for help and just continued preparing the fish. He had no allegiance to these people and whatever their problem was he figured they would solve it.

Another fish was decapitated before Zachary, another member of the galley crew, grabbed his arm. He was an older, rotund fellow that kept watch on Percival—particularly when he was using knives. "Come on, Andrew!"

Pulling away from the man, he asked. "What do I care?"

"If it is what I think it is, you'll care when we're captured by these bastards!"

"You seem to forget that I am already in that predicament," Percival said with a smirk.

"I was just like you once," the man said. "Lady Kylan was kind enough to spare my life. But I'm telling you, no matter your feelings on her, you don't want to die at the hands of these dogs."

"Who are they?"

"The Island Nations Federation. They'll show no mercy for us."

"What are they doing all the way up here?"

"Looking for Lady Kylan, no doubt."

Percival raised a sarcastic brow as he took the head of another fish. "She seems to make friends wherever she goes."

"Come on, Andrew."

"Fine," Percival said, tossing down the fish and handing the knife to Zachary. "But my sword is sworn to Zexen."

"Whatever lets you sleep at night."

Percival followed the man up to the deck. The skies were nearly black and the ship's slack sails blustered aimlessly, sounding like a cavalry charge as they flapped in the errant gusts of wind. Dozens of men were climbing the rigging, trying to furl the sails as the boatswain shouted orders over the rising ire of the sea. On top of the chaos of battening down, he heard the lookout scream: "Vessel approaching—straight ahead!"

Looking around, Percival realized he was the only one standing still. Even old Zachary was climbing rigging. Wind whipped his hair as the rain matted it down, such that when it slapped into his face, it burned his eyes. After wiping it away, he noticed Kylan and Troian coming towards him, shouting their words over the wrathful weather.

The woman's hair snaked about her head as the storm pulled at it. "Why the hell are they pulling in?"

"Captain," Troian pleaded. "Surely you don't think it would be smart to sail through this storm!"

"Well what the hell should we do, Troian? Wait it out? I don't have time for that. Besides, there's nowhere to put into port."

"Vessel approaching—off the port bow!" The lookout cried again.

"Dammit!" Kylan shouted, now just steps from Percival.

The knight started to walk astern, and away from her. He wasn't sure what he could do but the men were having trouble with the sails on the mizzen. As much as he didn't want to climb the rigging, anywhere was better than in the presence of _that_ witch.

She didn't let him have the satisfaction, though. After shouting at his adopted name, she added in a much too pleasant tone: "Don't forget my promise to you! If you disobey me or betray me, your sons' heads will be mine!"

With a submissive sigh he turned to face her. "What do you want?"

"Many things that you can't give me, Andrew," she snapped. "But at the moment I'll settle for your company. Stay put."

Again the lookout shouted, warning of the approaching ship.

"Troian, give me my glass!"

The fat man fumbled to remove a spyglass from his belt. Drawing it out to its full length, he handed it to the Captain.

Kylan glared into her scope with the ferocity of a starved tiger. "Those bastards have no respect for the laws of the sea!"

"What? What are they doing?" He asked. "Surely the Island Nations haven't followed us all the way up here."

"Apparently they have. It's very interesting that they're sailing south, though."

"Your current--"

"He hates the sea."

Percival raised a brow at the entire exchange, but said nothing.

Kylan smirked. "I know what those idiots want and I'm going to give it to them." She grabbed Percival's right hand. "I've heard that you are rather talented with a water rune."

"You took that from me when I was chained up," he replied, pulling his hand from her firm grasp.

"I know, but that doesn't matter. We're going test your skills in runic warfare. Come with me."

"Captain," Troian said. "You aren't going to fire on them, are you?"

"Why the hell not? They don't even practice common nautical courtesy. We're on starboard tack and they will not yield the right of way!"

"I don't know that warrants--"

"Shut up, Troian. I pay you for your voice and your seamanship, not for your opinions."

"Yes, Captain," he said, defeated.

The pirate captain grinned with a twisted haughtiness as she latched onto the knight's arm like a debutante at a ball. "Come along, Andrew. It's time to put you to good use."

Kylan led the two men down three staircases to a small room on the bottom deck, just about midship. Dark but dry, it smelled particularly odd to Percival, as if the air rarely changed. A strange old man stood in there as if he were guarding all the treasure under the sea. He gave a quick bow to Kylan, the few white wisps of hair on his head falling forward over his crooked nose.

Percival noted that as odd as the man looked, even more peculiar was the room itself. It spanned the width of the hull and despite how low they were to the water, it had windows that opened. They were small, square shaped panes of glass reinforced with iron and they dotted the two walls of the hull that brushed the sea. One was open, and a long, cylindrical device pointed out of it. There were a few more of the tubes placed around the room and a large stack of rock-like objects on the floor. For a ship as big as the _Desdemona_, it seemed like an unusual waste of space.

"Good to see you again, Nychold," Kylan said. "I need you to put a water rune on Andrew."

"Why?" Percival asked.

"Don't waste my time with questions. I know for a fact you are very talented with water runes and if I want one put on you, then you'll wear it."

Nychold retrieved a crystal from a small purse he kept tied to his waist. "Come on, boy," he said, his voice cracking like a rotten floorboard. "It won't hurt one bit."

Percival glared at Kylan. "Why not get one of your lackeys to do wear a rune?"

"What do you think you are?" She asked with a smirk that quickly faded. "Now don't make me remind you of my promise twice within the same hour."

With a sigh of resignation, Percival held his right hand out to Nychold. A moment later the old man's crystal broke over the knight's hand. Holding perfectly still as the rune settled itself under his skin, Percival closed his eyes for a moment as to not be blinded by the light the process produced.

When it was over, Kylan said. "Give me your hand, Andrew,"

"Now what?"

"Don't be difficult!"

"Captain," Troian said, looking through the glass. "It looks like they're in range."

Kylan grabbed Percival's hand. He struggled against her clutch, but she dug her nails into his wrist. She sneered at him. "If I have to jog your memory a third time I will set a course for Iksay immediately!"

He simply let his hand go limp in her grasp.

Still holding onto him, she said, "Now concentrate like you do when you use your rune in battle."

He closed his eyes and began to speak to the rune, asking it for assistance.

Before he was done with the incantation, Kylan slammed his palm onto the back of the cylindrical object. Percival grunted in agony as something ripped from his soul. His eyes opened in shock and his entire body trembled with a bizarre force he'd never felt. It was at least ten times worse than the exhaustion he normally experienced after using a rune, and it lingered, painfully. His rune hand still quavering as he fought to catch his breath, he watched in abject horror as a blue streak of light leaped to the other ship, snapping its mast like the neck of a mouse in a trap.


End file.
